Stage Pressure
by serrah.hawke
Summary: BeetlejuicexLydia.  See inside for full blurb.  Lydia only wanted to enter a fashion contest. Now she's a Neitherworldian manufactured popstar. With all of these distractions, how will she and Beej ever finally admit their feelings for each other?
1. Chapter 1

**Stage Pressure  
><strong>

_Lydia, now nineteen, is back from college and entering a fashion contest to, in her own words, 'make a statement'. __Only problem is, Clare Brewster has upped the ante of the competition and has made it into a talent show. _  
><em>When singing is suggested as both a means for Lydia to gain confidence on stage and as a possible <em>_accompaniment to her segment of the fashion show, Beetlejuice decides she is the Neitherworld's_ _next biggest star (and also his next biggest money-maker.)  
>Their relationship, however, - already becoming defined with a large 'question mark' -is put under pressure when Beetlejuice's plan actually turns out.<em>

_Now, in amongst all this new fame and fortune, will the two ever manage to face up to how their feelings towards each other have matured?_  
><em>And will they be able to get Lydia out of the limelight before the stage pressure proves too much for her?<em>

* * *

><p><strong>AN**

Setting: Cartoon-verse (may borrow from movie-verse)  
><span>Pairing:<span> BeetlejuicexLydia

References to events and characters from the show are intensive.  
>If you're not a BeejxLyds shipper then I suggest you hit the back button. Expect fluff from the start!<br>I know that the 'verse is technically set around the turn of the decade in the 90s  
>but as this was never explicitly stated in the show I've taken some liberties.<br>I've tried my best to avoid this being labelled a song-fic. It's not.

In the case of any spelling inconsistencies I'd just like to point out that I am  
>British, so I use English: UK spellings. However, my Word is default set to<br>English: US, and no matter how many times I switched back to UK it would still  
>revert back to US, so there may be a mix of spellings. That should only be the case<br>for the first handful of chapters, as I think I've finally got it stuck to UK spelling.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

If you had said to a thirteen-year-old Lydia Deetz that she was to perform on stage competitively before the whole of Peaceful Pines, she would have shaken with queasy nerves and declined the offer. A nineteen-year-old Lydia however – aspiring photographer, part-time fashion designer – was compelled.

She stood surveying the construction of the platform that was being erected outside of the town hall, builders juggling various boards and tools as they marched past her, some offering looks, some too engrossed in their work. Those that looked would eventually stare; Lydia had become a stunning young woman.  
>Letting out a breath that was almost a sigh, almost wistful, Lydia could practically picture the banner above the platform now – 'Peaceful Pines Summer Fashion Contest'. She could even picture her competition. Textiles and fashion students were required to enter – good or not – due to their course of choice. There was also a girl who lived at the bottom of the hill beneath the Deetz's household who was entering with 'sustainable' fashions made from recycled materials. And then… then there was Clare Brewster.<br>Lydia frowned. Her age-old rival, fresh from California to try and outdo her, as always; on a break from college and back to haunt her.

Lydia hefted her digital SLR (some shots weren't worth dark-room treatment) and snapped a picture of the stage's progress.  
>She had two weeks to prepare. Models weren't a problem – they had already volunteered and been selected by the judging committee, and each designer had to share them. The fashions weren't a problem either, Lydia had already completed each piece. No, she was anxious about being <em>up <em>there. All designers were required to introduce their range, explain their inspiration and thought processes, relay their audience and theme – all at the mercy of a thousand eyes and voices, if not more. Her stomach somersaulted at the thought.

Swallowing thickly, she turned and readjusted both her satchel and SLR case, the straps having bitten into her shoulder. Her chest-length, coal-black hair bobbed as she moved, catching and tousling in the afternoon breeze.  
>Lost in thought, she managed to walk a few paces before she slammed into someone's arm and started at the sound of a phone clattering to the floor. She'd mumbled an apology before she'd even realized who it was that she'd bumped into.<p>

"Hey, watch it!" The voice was high, and bounced with an upper inflection that grated on Lydia's nerves and memory the instant she heard it.  
>A blonde bunny tossed her hair over her shoulder and narrowed blue eyes thick and heavy with both mascara and false lashes.<br>_Oh, great… _Lydia stepped back and maintained as polite a face as she could muster. "Oh. Sorry, Clare. I didn't see you," Her voice was monotone.

Clare Brewster was tanned-brown, with painted-on lips, thin-plucked brows and make-up so thick that it was a wonder she could lift her head. She was wearing a bubblegum-pink cami that read 'your boyfriend –heart– me' and denim hot pants that must have been a size too small.  
>Lydia barely concealed a disgusted frown.<p>

No reference was made to the fact that they hadn't seen each other for the best (definitely 'best') part of a year. The temperature seemed to drop a good five to ten degrees.  
>"Like, no kidding, Deetz. What are <em>you <em>doing here?" The bimbo scowled and picked up her phone – pink with cheap diamantes stuck on the back. Lydia had no doubt that Clare, or rather 'Daddykins' Brewster could afford to buy her real diamonds, but the cheap, tacky bling had its own appeal to girls like her.  
>"I was about to ask you the same thing," Lydia fought the urge to fold her arms.<p>

"Duh. I'm in the _con_-test," Clare's nose wrinkled as she straightened, regarding the dark-haired girl before her like she was a bug that needed to be squashed.  
>"So I heard. But why are you <em>here<em>? At the site?" Lydia motioned behind her at the construction work.  
><em>You don't prepare, <em>she thought assuredly. She didn't need to say it out loud; her dark eyes glittered in a disbelief that Clare took for mockery.  
>Clare's eyes narrowed and she pouted her vivid-pink lips. She raised her manicured hands, palms up to the sky. "Give me a <em>break<em>, Deetz. I'm seeing, like, my _stage_. What I have to work with and– _y'know_. I have this totally awesome idea, which is gonna blow whatever you're planning, like, out of the wa-ter, Ly-di-a."

_Hold your cool, hold your cool, _Lydia's conscience kept repeating in a mantra. She shook her head slowly, legs itching to walk away, to end the conversation before Clare could, to have the _last word_. She could see it in her mind's eye now, imagined tossing her long hair nonchalantly and smiling coolly. 'Good for you; catch you later.'  
>She couldn't. Her feet were rooted to the spot. "Clare, it's a fashion show. You're talking as though it's a talent show,"<p>

Clare scoffed, examining her nails. "Isn't it? Like, Deetz, don't be so _square_. Why else would they want the de-_sign_-ers up on the stage?"  
>Lydia's blood ran cold. The colour drained from her face at the very thought.<br>_I will _not_ let myself think that she might be right. _She told herself firmly. _Clare just wants the spotlight on her, she just wants to up the game, I will not give her the satisfaction, I won't! _But... curiosity killed the cat. She raised an eyebrow. "What are you planning?"

Clare grinned deliciously. "As if _I'm_ going to give you any i-deas! You'll just have to wait and see, Ly-di-a. Toodles," She waggled her fingers. The living and breathing Barbie doll cackled as though she thought herself hilarious and turned to walk away in heels that were much too high. Lydia felt a sweet stab of triumph when she saw a few yards up ahead that Clare tripped over her own feet and almost face-planted the ground.

As Lydia, too, retreated, dark vengeful thoughts filled her head. _If Beetlejuice were here right now… if he could just 'juice up a patch of ice beneath those ridiculous heels of hers… if she could just slip and chip one of those perfect pearly-whites of hers then that would make. my. day… _Ah, dreaming up ways of getting back at Clare Brewster, her guilty pleasure. A past time she was reluctant to admit to, fantasies she never took seriously.

Lydia shook her head and rounded the corner from the construction site, following the pavement out onto the main road that wound through the Winter River suburb and climbed, eventually, uphill.  
>Her legs were like lead. She felt all the more nervous about the competition now after her run in with her rival. Fashion wasn't Clare's ambition – looking 'good', yes, but that wasn't quite the same thing. Clare was usually the one <em>wearing<em> the clothes, not designing them. She had no creative or intellectual flair, she was too self-centred for that. _But_ there was no denying she was stubborn and ambitious, and that was competition enough. Clare would use the contest as a means of advertising herself, would turn it into a parade.

It wasn't long before Lydia reached the barbershop and the Maitland Hardware store, where she'd chained her bike. Removing the chain, she mounted it whilst turning over the ill feeling in her gut. If Clare was going to up the ante of the competition, then she was doomed. Even if Clare herself had no 'flair', she could certainly pay somebody to think some up for her.

Lydia sighed.  
>It wasn't that she <em>needed <em>to win, but she wanted to make a _statement_. She wanted to challenge what the media considered beautiful, she wanted a spotlight shed on the dark, on the Gothic, on the macabre, for _once_. Beating Miss Brewster was one of the most enjoyable ways in which to do so. 'Artistic' revenge. Never personal.  
>She'd brainstorm ways in which to improve her 'performance', but, in the mean time, home beckoned, and Lydia pedalled for all she was worth to get there.<p>

* * *

><p>After dinner, and after hours of scripting her speech for the competition, Lydia made her way to her room and over to her bureau, deep in thought. Without having a thought as to why she was doing so, she opened up one of its drawers and fumbled beneath a sketchbook and an A4 portfolio before her fingers struck cool glass. She slipped the concealed photo frame out carefully, and stared at the photograph. A fourteen-year-old Lydia stared back, smiling contentedly, red-tipped fingers resting on her shoulder as she leaned into a pale, slightly blue-tinged figure wearing black and white stripes, the owner of the hand. He too was smiling, revealing teeth that should have been unsightly but that Lydia now found endearing, his head slightly tipped in her direction.<p>

Suddenly, inexplicably, a memory hit her.  
>"<em>What would I ever do without you, Beetlejuice?"<br>_"_You'll never know, babes. You'll _never _know_."  
>But now she did know, even if the experience had only been a temporary one.<p>

Life had had little colour without him these past few weeks. Though Lydia blended in at college in amongst the cocktail of lifestyles and cultures that attended, she'd found that that wasn't as much of a relief as she'd have thought it would be. She wasn't unique anymore, and she'd grown fond of her own uniqueness, of her own 'freakishness'. Beetlejuice had given her the confidence to be herself. At college no one paid attention to her the same way that he did, no one saw her as special as he did her.

She ran her fingers across the glass that separated her from his image, as it often did when they were either side of the mirror.

'Age' didn't count for much in the Neitherworld. 'Change', though it happened, was accepted but generally ignored.  
>Lydia had come to learn that this, in part, was because most new ghouls were Reset upon arriving in the Neitherworld, to acclimatize to their afterlife. Reborn as a baby ghoul, they aged until their age of death, after which they stopped growing for good, as Beetlejuice had. So, though a ghost could <em>look <em>in their early-twenties, they could really be the spirit of an old crone, in-progress.

Lydia had begun to assume that that was why no one in the Neitherworld had bat an eyelid at a thirty-something poltergeist palling around with a child-cum-teenager that, in theory, was old (or rather, young) enough to be his daughter. The deceased stopped asking questions; everyone was considered safe because they were already dead. In the Neitherworld, their friendship had never seemed odd at all. In the Real World however…  
>"<em>Like, how many times do you hang out with that, like, <em>Handy Man,_ anyway, Lydia Deetz? It's sooo tot-all-y gross. If I didn't know better, I'd say there was something going _on_."  
><em>The memory of Clare's frequent belittling was still raw and fresh in Lydia's mind, especially after running into her today. She gripped the frame tighter.

She and "Mr. Beetleman" had rarely been seen out in public together in Peaceful Pines, but you could always count on Clare Brewster and her posse to catch wind of it if they did. It seemed that once the girls of Miss Shannon's school had graduated, Clare's following had multiplied to an obscene amount. She effectively began to have eyes and ears everywhere. This, in turn, had lead to Lydia travelling and staying in the Neitherworld whenever she had a spare moment. If it hadn't been for the fact that she was now a young woman, and Delia thought it worrying that she spent so much time being closed-off 'in her own room' rather than out socializing 'normally', she would have continued to do so.

One day, almost two years ago now, Delia had taken her stepdaughter to one side. "Lydia, I worry about you,"  
>"There's no need to worry about me, Mom,"<br>"But at every chance you get, you're sat _alone_ in your room. I mean, how are other people expected to stop labelling you as a- a-" Her hands had grabbed at the air for the right word.  
>"-freak?" Lydia had interjected.<br>Delia had carried on without hesitation, continuing where Lydia had left. "-without you doing _normal _things. Why can't you go out like other girls your age? You'll never get a boyfriend if you keep yourself shut away,"

Much as Lydia hated to face the facts, Delia had been – well – right. She wasn't leading her life, preparing herself for her future; she was isolating herself.  
>And so gradually, Lydia had started calling Beetlejuice less and less. Then, what with her getting a place at college, it became impossible for her to find time for them on-campus. She didn't trust his behaviour enough to try and call him to her college, and, what with her having a roommate, she was under scrutiny twenty-four hours a day.<br>She hadn't seen Beetlejuice for _weeks_ and now that she'd returned from a seemingly endless term at college to the small middle-of-nowhere Connecticut village she called home, she was desperate to see him again.

Lydia stood the photo frame up on her bureau and sat down on the edge of her four-poster bed, letting her mind empty. She exhaled deeply through her nose, fell back and led sprawled on top of her comforter, glancing heavenwards up at her high ceiling, mulling over her options.  
>She wanted to call him now, wanted to tell him everything that had happened since she'd seen him last. Hell, she just wanted to be <em>with <em>him. All these years, she'd always wanted to hang out with him, to have a distraction from mundane reality, to have an adventure, to have _fun_, but now… now there was no other objective behind wanting to see him other than the fact that she'd _see_ _him_. This was a feeling she couldn't quite explain and didn't yet have the capacity to understand, but it was accompanied daily by such thoughts as 'I wonder what Beetlejuice is doing right now?'.

She turned her head slightly to gaze at the large mirror perched above her dresser. Longing coiled inside of her, but reason won out. _I won't call him yet. He might be busy.  
><em>It was late now, anyway. Glancing at her alarm clock – 11.48pm – she felt her eyes grow heavy. Lydia was, by all accounts, a night owl, but she was exhausted. She'd spent the best part of the day finalizing the outfits for the show, scoping out the site (and bumping into Clare), scripting her speech before and after family dinner and winding down for bed. She'd been home for a week, but it had passed in a whirlwind of activity, and she'd had no time to herself, let alone time to call Beej.

Sitting up, she unbuttoned and unzipped her black jeans before peeling them from her legs (she reminded herself again why she oftentimes disliked skinny-fit) and pulled her plum-coloured vest top up and over her head.  
>Padding over to her door in just her undies, she opened it a crack and called down the stairs. "Dad! Mom! I'm heading to bed,"<br>"Oh, n— night, pumpkin!" Charles Deetz called back up to her.

Lydia clicked the door to and flicked the light switch, before turning back to her bed. The luxury of having a room all to herself again made her lazy, and instead of slipping into some pyjamas she unlatched her bra and tossed it casually to the floor, followed quickly by her shed panties. Unabashedly bare, she clambered into bed eagerly.

_In the morning, _she thought, tucking herself in. _When I have a minute alone, I'll call him.  
><em>

* * *

><p>Beetlejuice, too, was turning down for bed. Having just stepped into his room and changed into his magenta, bug-patterned pyjamas, he pulled the trousers up over his beer belly (or perhaps 'beetle' belly was more appropriate) and crawled into his coffin-shaped bed, settling down morosely.<p>

He couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken to Lydia. These periods of silence always made him wonder if this time would be the 'end', if she had finally forgotten him. He'd always hoped that that day would never come; now he almost felt it was inevitable. Real life was sweeping her off her feet, carrying her away from him. It wouldn't be long before she got a stable group of friends, maybe even a boyfriend (_huh_, inexplicable queasy feeling at that thought) and a career.

He rolled onto his side, and shut his eyes. It was then that a mumbling sound drew his attention to the mirror in the corner of his room.  
>Blinking, he sat up before venturing over to it.<br>He peered in, his usual entrance to the world of the living currently a window more so than a door, but it was something, at least. The light was out in Lydia's room, as it had been for countless evenings past, but the mound under her bedding made his stomach flip. She was _home_.

He marvelled at this silently for a moment; when was the last time he'd looked? For all he knew, she could have been home for weeks. Even so, he wasn't one to snoop on her when she hadn't called, especially now that she was older. The fact that she was 'older' was graspable, but the fact that she'd 'grown up' was something that hadn't quite hit home yet. He'd gotten the 'older' message when he'd appeared in her mirror a year or so ago and she'd been midway through changing. (Not that he'd seen anything.) She'd snapped at him, told him to be more considerate with how and when he checked in on her, and now he followed the rule: unless she called, she wasn't ready for him.  
>He was breaking his own rule now.<p>

"Lyds?" He whispered, pressing his red fingertips to the glass.  
>He could see her roll over to face the mirror, but her face was passive and serene with sleep. Her dark lashes fluttered and her lips moved unintelligibly. She was dreaming.<br>He remembered the innocence her face had shown when she slept as a child, and was startled to see there wasn't that childlike innocence there anymore, only a bewitching vulnerability.  
>Beetlejuice had only begun to wonder what it was that she could be dreaming about that could made her look so peaceful, when something totally unexpected happened.<p>

"_Beetlejuice_…" Lydia breathed in her sleep, eyebrows arching as she pressed her face into her pillow.

The ghost's dead heart skipped a beat.  
>Oh, but she'd said his name in her sleep before but those times were nothing compared to <em>this<em>. Her voice had been soft, whimpering, and as he took in the sight of her bed-tousled hair and flushed cheeks, his imagination ran away with him.  
>Before he could stop himself, he pictured lecherous hands plunging into her dark hair, then pinning her to the bed, her dark eyes submissive as they gazed up at her midnight visitor. With a jolt, he realized the hands he was imagining had red-tipped fingers.<p>

His exclusively male appendage tensed.

"Eeeee!" Immediately, he felt as though he'd done something horribly wrong by spying on her. Perverse. He didn't stumble back so much as jump back, and didn't stop retreating until the edge of his bed met the back of his legs and he toppled on top of it.  
><em>Woah. Waitaminute. <em>_**Woah**_.

He suddenly felt dirty, and in a different way to the norm. He tried very hard to un-see what it was he had just pictured, and in a fit of panic he dashed back over to the mirror and turned it to face the wall, panting.  
>"Have to save me from myself…" He muttered aloud, but what that meant he couldn't be sure.<p>

He tried not to question why his imagination had run in that direction, aside from the obvious – that he was a dirty-minded lech and a suggestive whimper was enough to prompt it. After all, he'd never thought of Lydia like… _that_. And even though for a _millisecond_ there he _may_ have, he couldn't… couldn't bring himself to.  
>She was his best friend. A kid. Yes, she was getting older but- He tried to count on his fingers how old she was. Instead of counting multiple times per hand, new fingers sprouted out of his appendage for each extra year. It became a blur at fourteen; how old was she again?<p>

He tried counting the anniversary presents he'd gotten her. First there was the spider brooch, then the watch, then the updated photo frame with their picture… those would make her, what? Fourteen? But… wait, there were other presents. He tried adding them up against the years now, and he got so frustrated working it out that his head began to literally spin.

Had it not been for the fact that she wore or used these gifts an awful lot, a scatter-brained slob like him would probably have forgotten them all by now.  
>No, there was the SYellArrrr camera that put monsters and frights in every photo taken. Fifteen.<br>Oh, but what about the Everglow candle- the candle that's flame never burns and never burns out? Sixteen.  
>The coffin-shaped earrings. Seventeen.<br>The Teddy-Scare. He remembered that one because she'd looked at him hurtfully – how old do you think I am? – when she'd gotten it. Ah, but that was until she'd learned it had a life of its own. Actually, that was before they'd both realized how much trouble it would get them in. Eighteen, then.

But then that meant he was missing their last anniversary, and he remembered that one the best of all because it was so recent. The pendant. He'd gotten her a Victorian pendant with a black and white striped cameo set in black filigree.  
>He recalled Jacques declaring, "<em>Sacre bleu<em>! You _match_," when she'd arrived at the Roadhouse wearing it. He'd been right. That day Beetlejuice had substituted his magenta shirt for an (albeit dirty) white one. And, as Lydia had gotten older (huh, there it was again), she'd grown out of her red cape and had altered it into a dress. This having been a special occasion however, she'd turned up wearing a black dress – in hindsight it was one of those so called 'little black numbers', which should have been much too extravagant for celebrating a friend-a-versary, and should have been 'too old for her', yet somehow it had worked at the time. It had had horizontal off-the-shoulder straps, and a built-in white underskirt. It being the Neitherworld, Lydia had worn black, sensible flats instead of heels. And that pendant.

They'd gone out to a Wide-Scream movie together, and ignored Jacques' and Ginger's puzzled looks.

Suddenly, realization dawned on Beetlejuice and flattened him like a steamroller. Their anniversary had positively reeked of—of a _date_. Not only had he gotten her a gift that was so obviously in reference to himself, but she'd worn it happily, had _coordinated _with him (not that he'd noticed until Jacques had pointed it out) and they'd left arm in arm, climbed into Doomie – Doomie, _their _car – gone to a secluded (but public) spot, a _date _spot, and sat in the dark, together, leaning close…  
>Nineteen. Lydia was <em>nineteen<em>.

His mind replayed her dreamy whimper. _'Beetlejuice_…'  
>"AAAAH!" The ghost's head span off of his shoulders for the second time that evening. He dove into his bed and shoved his head beneath his pillow, jamming it down around his ears as though he hoped that doing so would stop the mental playback.<p>

Okay, he could admit, he was perverse but he wasn't a _pervert. _Lydia was his best friend, always had been. She'd always been safe with him, and always would be.  
>He wasn't thinking straight. He was tired, he was confused because he hadn't seen her in such a long time, and, hell, who was he kidding? He hadn't gotten any for centuries.<br>Lydia was the only humanoid female he had an active social life with, and maybe… maybe in that moment of her sleepy vulnerability _part_ of his subconscious suddenly considered using her as fuel for the ol' fire when he'd be stoking it alone. But…  
>Beetlejuice's face crumpled. He couldn't do <em>that<em> over his _friend._

So the dirty half of his brain was betraying him, it wasn't the first time a body-part of his had gone on strike. And anyway, he was reading _way_ too much into it.  
>He lessened the pressure on the pillow and moaned into his mattress. "I gotta get some sleeeeeep."<br>It took him a while, but eventually, he managed it.

* * *

><p>It was just as well that the dresser-mirror's elevation had hidden Lydia's discarded underwear from view. It was also just as well that Lydia liked to curl up tight in her bedding, so that her having slept in the nude had gone completely unnoticed.<br>When morning came, she stirred and yawned groggily.

After dressing and making her way downstairs, only to discover a note left from her parents – _Out on an errand. Be about an hour. x _– she went on to make herself breakfast before returning to her room.

She'd thrown on a grey nightshirt, so-called 'boyfriend-fit', that hung to the middle of her thighs. Now, gazing at her reflection in the mirror, she popped her collar and pouted, before laughing at her own childishness.  
>Lydia went on to rim her eyes with a thick, black kohl pencil, ruffled her hair to increase its volume and then—and then she hesitated. <em>What am I doing?<em>

_Getting dressed, _she answered herself. She blended the eyeliner out, making her eyes smoky.  
>A snarky inner voice mocked: <em><strong>Half<strong>__-dressed. You have no intention of putting on any more clothes, but you're making yourself look sultry. For who, exactly? Yourself? … __**Beetlejuice**__?_

A hand came up to her head. She inhaled deeply, and then let it out. "It's perfectly normal to want to look your best around company." She reasoned aloud.  
><em>So <em>_**that's**_ _why you wore that black dress for your 'anniversary'._

She was at war with herself. Burying her face in her palms, she began to knead her temples irritably. "I _don't_ feel that way about B.J.," she tried to tell herself, none-too-convincingly. She sounded tired, even to her own ears.  
>'That way'? What way was that? Whatever reason (and, therefore, feeling) other than vanity that explained why she was dolling herself up this early in the morning.<p>

She struggled with herself internally for a moment more before she stood back from the mirror and called, with little dramatics: "Beetlejuice…"  
>Her breath hitched. She shut her eyes. "Beetlejuice…"<br>Subconsciously, she tugged down her shirttail, suddenly feeling quite bare. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and with it, his name, completing the magic trio. "Beetlejuice."

Lydia cracked an eye open, and waited. … Nothing happened. Nothing except the appearance of the Portal door.  
>She numbly walked towards it, took hold of the handle, then remembered her state of undress and stopped.<br>Back turned, she jumped at the sound of a small, contained clap of thunder behind her. She wheeled around to see Beetlejuice hovering in the air at the foot of her bed.  
>"Babes!" He cried, arms flung out either side of him as though he were about to swoop down and embrace her.<br>"Beej," She grinned back up at him in blatant relief.

He seemed to only then register the sight of her, eyes focusing.  
>Suddenly, in the morning light that streamed through her bedroom window, she looked a lot <em>different <em>to what he remembered. Those dark, smoky eyes seemed to see right through him, dazzling, and her dishevelled hair – had she _styled _it like that? –only brought up the memory of his imaginations from the night before.

When they'd been apart these past few weeks, he'd been reminded of her by the picture he had over his bed; he hadn't yet gotten around to updating it, so the photo was still of her as a child. Now, when he tried to compare in his mind's eye the photo and this beautiful young woman before him, it was hard to believe they were one and the same.  
>That was the trouble with separation: when you were with someone every day and watched them grow before your eyes, you never saw it, never realized it. But, as soon as you were apart, it began to hit you.<p>

Beetlejuice glanced quickly at her, taking in her sole garment of clothing, and noted she had nothing covering her legs, as far as the eye could see. A lump formed in his throat. He tried to alleviate the pressure of his collar from around his neck. _Hot in here…  
><em>Lydia stepped forward. As soon as she did so, Beetlejuice's gaze seemed to skittishly dance away, and for a moment Lydia felt sure she saw his cheeks redden.

"So… how's it goin'?" He asked as nonchalantly as he could, lying on a bed of air horizontally, with his elbow propped up, head resting in his hand.  
>"Get down here. I missed you," Lydia said with a laugh, sounding more confident than she felt.<br>The ghost swallowed the lump in his throat, and obeyed, descending until his feet were planted firmly on the ground. "Jeesh, Lyds. I missed ya too,"

They simultaneously interlocked in a firm hug, but both seemed to untangle quickly from each other as though trying to avoid an uneasy, lengthy embrace.  
>In the aftermath, Beetlejuice uncomfortably smoothed back his dry, blond hair just as Lydia shifted where she stood. Was the last time they'd seen each other been this… uncertain?<p>

"So, what have I missed?" Lydia asked, and Beetlejuice was immediately grateful for the topic. He made a 'pfft' sound and floated back to the armchair in the corner of her room, which he settled into with contented ease. "Only some of the greatest pranks _yet_. I'm tellin' ya, Lyds, you had to have been there,"  
>"Unlucky for me,"<p>

"How's college?"  
>The fact that he cared enough to ask (almost uncharacteristically, too) made her flash him a dazzling smile, which in turn made Beetlejuice's heart twitch painfully. "All work and no play. You'd hate it,"<br>"Yeee-uckk."

"I've been home for about a week now. I'm sorry I didn't call you before, but I've just been waiting for things to settle down. I barely had a moment to myself, what with preparing for this contes–" She regretted it the instant it had left her mouth.  
>Beetlejuice's face lit up. "Contest?" He leaned forward in the armchair, starry-eyed. Lydia didn't need to be a mind reader to know he was picturing cold, hard cash. Wads of it.<br>"There's no money in it for you, B. J.," She couldn't help but laugh at his predictability. "It's a local fashion contest. I'm submitting my designs,"

"And the prize...?" He prompted, moving his hand in a circular 'do continue' motion.  
>"An article in Lily Mode fashion magazine. <em>And<em> your range sold in the local Top Gossip store for an exclusive period."  
>Beetlejuice's eyes literally glowed green from all the cash he was visualizing. "You get royalties?" His voice raised in pitch with excitement.<br>Lydia shrugged her shoulders slightly. She hadn't thought about it. "I, uh, guess so,"  
>The poltergeist leapt to his feet. "Babes! You <em>have<em> to win that contest!"

Lydia narrowed her eyes. She smirked. "Ha. Wait till you hear the ultimate prize: beating Clare Brewster,"  
>"Aah. A reward in itself, my dear," Beetlejuice drawled in a snooty upper-class accent that forced a giggle from Lydia that escaped like a burp. Then, at the thought of Clare, and the uncertainty as to what she was planning, her mood crashed.<br>Lydia trod over to her bed and sat down, resting her head in her palms. She smiled wretchedly. As she sat, her nightshirt rode up to expose more of her thighs. Beetlejuice averted his eyes, his mouth dry.  
>"That is, if I can even stand out amongst the competition. Clare mentioned something about turning it into a performance."<p>

His gaze swung back to her against his better judgment. He watched as she crossed her legs at the knee. When was the last time he'd paid attention to her body like this? Certainly not before it had developed like this. Something about those toned, shapely thighs and long legs was getting to him.  
>"A… performance?" He repeated distractedly. Just because he heard her didn't mean he was listening. Again, his mind teased: <em>Nineteen. She's nineteen.<br>__Shaddup! _He told himself, and struggled not to rattle his head in frustration.

"I don't know what she's planning. What if she concocts some music video starring her clothes? Or gets someone to draft a sketch for her where the characters are modelling her fashions? I'd have to ask the models to get any sort of clue, but…"  
>He snapped himself out of it. Lydia <em>needed <em>him. The least he could do was pay attention. "Sounds like y'need some help, babes," He rolled up his sleeves. "If they want a show, they can _have_ a _**show**_,"  
>"B.J…." Lydia said in the tone of voice that reined him in.<br>"Whaaat?"  
>"I want to do this on my own,"<p>

He stood up. "Aw, come on, Lyds. I get that. But y'can practice and _I_ can give you tips. We still just need to boost your confidence, 's'all,"  
>"No Neitherworld hijinks?"<br>"Cross my heart," Beetlejuice signed a cross over his heart with one hand, and crossed his fingers of the other hand behind his back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

She felt ridiculous.  
>Encircled by fashion-clad mannequins in the centre of the Roadhouse common room, Lydia held up her prompt-cards and cleared her throat. "Uh…. Uh… g-good evening,"<p>

The small audience facing her had been brought together by the simple desire to help the poor, stammering girl before them, not to mention the unspoken assurance that while this was going on they were freed from Beetlejuice's mayhem.

Ginger tipped her head on one side curiously, just as Jacques tried to offer Lydia a reassuring smile.  
>Lydia closed her eyes and breathed deep. "Aah… M-My name is Lydia Deetz, and I c-call this collection the ReVamp collection… Th-These clothes were created in homage–"<p>

She heard a very loud, rude raspberry and her head shot up, eyes narrowing. "Beetlejuice!"  
>"<em>Booooring.<em>" The ghost yawned, floating a foot below the ceiling. He feigned disinterest, glancing at the chipped, bloodied fingernails of one hand.  
>Lydia scowled up at him and folded her arms. "Well, I'm sorry for troubling you," Her voice was thick with sarcasm.<p>

The sound of shuffling booted feet made her turn her gaze on Ginger.  
>"Ah, honey, why so shy? If you can't speak in front of us then how are you gonna do on stage?"<br>"Uh…"

The Monster Across the Street, sat on the right-hand side of the dishevelled sofa and causing it to sag greatly at his end, dug into a bowl of Gnatchos and raised one Neitherworld tortilla chip aloft as he spoke. "She's right, lil' cactus flower. Ain't no good putting yerself through it if yer a bag of nerves,"  
>The Monster's words hit home, and Lydia bowed her head in shame.<p>

_They're right, _she thought, miserably._ When did I become like this? I auditioned for plays in school, it didn't bother me then. But… that one MC night Beetlejuice signed me up for was a _disaster. _Maybe I'm fine playing a character, but not being myself. _

Jacques spoke up in her defence, snapping her from her thoughts. He raised a skeletal arm. "But that's _i_t! It _is_ just a case of ze nerves, it is perfectly normal. Stage fright, _non_? Sometimes they say singing clears speech _obstacles_, why not try _i_t?"

The colour drained from her face. "Uh… I- I can't–" Lydia mumbled whilst shaking her head, backing away somewhat from the seated trio and the still-hovering Beetlejuice. She stopped as her shoulder connected with one of the clothed dressmaker-dummies, causing it to rock precariously on its tripod stand.

Ginger clapped two hands together. Her Brooklyn accent was particularly thick when she spoke. "Ooo, a _cab_aret_! _Lemme show you my new dance moves!"  
>"Ah, put a sock in it, Ginge," Suddenly a rotten old sock appeared out of thin air and jammed itself into Ginger's mouth.<p>

Lydia shook her head again. "I can't sing," she excused. She'd only ever sung to herself in the shower, or in the car, where the acoustics were never good and where you always sounded tinny and awful to your own ears. She hadn't had a spectacular voice as a child, and she wasn't sure if a singing voice was something you could grow into.  
>Not to mention the idea of singing in front of an audience, even now, even if they were her friends, made her throat dry up in anxiety. It was different in a group or duo; different because you weren't the whole centre of attention. The idea of a solo was- <em>terrifying<em>.

Beetlejuice bobbed in the air, levelling out to head-height with the three sat on the sofa. "Hey, neither can he," He cocked a thumb in the Monster's direction. "Doesn't stop 'im,"  
>It seemed for a moment that every fine red-brown hair that covered the Monster's mass stood up in fury. He wheeled around, his heavily concealed brows furrowing. "What in tarhooties are you implying, Beetlejuice?"<br>Ginger took this moment to recover from her stunned paralysis. She spat out the garment that had wedged itself in her mouth. "_Hey_," She, too, glowered up at the insolent poltergeist.

"_Zut alors, mes amis_, settle down!" Jacques removed his beret and waved it in an attempt to distract the others, but failed.

The Monster stood up. "Now I've had jus' about enough of you,"  
>"Yeah," Piped in Ginger.<br>Beetlejuice clasped his hands together and glanced heavenwards, putting on a childish voice positively dripping with mockery. "Oh _goodness_, I'm shaking in my boots!"  
>"You're so immature!"<p>

"Um… guys?" Lydia tried.

"The trouble ye've caused me over the years! You need your ears cleaned out if you can't appreciate fine music when ya hear it!"  
>"At least I'm being honest," Beetlejuice whipped back quickly. Then, when he thought about what he'd said, he stuck his tongue out and gagged. <em>Ugh. Honesty<em>.  
>"Hmph. For a change!" Jacques exclaimed.<br>"Are you agreein' wi' him?"  
>"And another thing, you don't like my <em>dancing<em>!"  
>"Nobody likes your dancing, Ginge,"<br>"Be-etlejuice!"  
>"WAHHH!"<p>

Lydia turned around and sighed deeply, letting the others squabble. Getting the four of them in a room together usually warranted this outcome at some point, and she knew better than to try and pull them apart. After all, the four of them had lived in such close proximity for so long that if they hadn't killed each other yet then they probably never would. Then Lydia remembered that they were all already dead, so that argument was pretty much invalid.

Still, she tried to block out the arguing behind her, and instead focused on the reason they'd gathered in the first place.  
>Maybe Jacques was right? Maybe singing <em>was<em> a good way to practice. She'd heard that those with speech impediments, particularly stutterers, used it as a way to communicate because it stopped their stammering. All she had to do was pick a tune, and sing her presentation.  
>She steeled herself, glanced at her flashcards and then tried to think of a simple tune. <em>Greensleeves<em>. Yes, that would do the trick.

"_Good eve-ning, la-dies and gen-tle-men_…." She began, at first quietly, but as she found her voice lost in the drone of the fighting she picked up volume and her confidence grew.  
>"… <em>as I pre-sent you to my col-lec-tion<em>.  
><em>My name is Ly-dia Deetz and I –<br>__would li-ike to spe-eak my mind."  
><em>  
>Her pitch heightened. Behind her, the arguing came to a sudden, grounded halt.<p>

"_Prac-ti-ise for co-n-test –  
><em>_it's craz-y bu-ut I'll do my best.  
><em>_I'd li-ike to win the show –  
><em>_but these thi-ings you'll ne-ever know."_

The Monster Across the Street removed his hat.  
>Ginger's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.<br>Beetlejuice's jaw literally dropped to the floor.

"_I was in-spire-ed by hor-ror films –  
><em>_and poe-ems and mem-o-ries with my friends.  
><em>_So I kept the-ese clothes dark, it's true,  
><em>_but bla-ack looks be-tter than blue.  
><em>_Fa-shion ca-an be many things;  
><em>_like dres-ses and je-eans and dia-mond rings.  
><em>_De-si-igns are hard to find –  
><em>_that are u-nique and clev-er like mine."_

The last note seemed to hang in the air for a lingering, otherwise-silent moment, before Lydia finally cracked an eye open. _Deadly voo. Did I just… improvise?  
><em>It suddenly dawned on her for the first time that the others had stopped fighting. She turned slowly, only to see the four of them stunned into silence. Beetlejuice's feet were firmly on the ground, as was the bottom half of his mouth.

Ginger broke the silence with a gasp. "Lydia, honey, that was beautiful!"  
>Suddenly the seated trio were all nodding and applauding enthusiastically.<br>"Well, colour me impressed!"  
>Jacques threw up his hands. "<em>C'est magnifiques!<em> Lydia! We did not know you could sing!_"  
><em>"I… thank you," … _Neither did I._

Beetlejuice began pulling his mouth off of the floor, reeling it in before it finally snapped back into place. He cleared his throat. Levitating over to Lydia, he draped an arm around her shoulders when he was close enough. "Babes! You dark horse." He flicked his forefinger, and a proportionate black mare appeared, only to munch some chips from the bowl in the Monster's hands. "Hey, what the–!"

"Uh…" Lydia watched as the horse disappeared as quickly as it had come.  
>"Now if you do as well as <em>that<em> then the contest will be a piece of cake!" Beetlejuice impressed on her, grinning wide.  
>A hand came up to Lydia's temples. "I- I can't sing in front of all those people! It's a fashion contest! I'll be humiliated!"<p>

Beetlejuice scoffed and withdrew his arm, stepping back. "Naww. You said it yourself– " Lydia's own head appeared on his shoulders. "_'Clare mentioned something about turning it into a performance."' _He repeated in her voice. When Lydia blinked, he had his own face once more. "It's in the bag, Lyds!"  
>"Mm… the models did say this afternoon that they'd been approached about doing some acting for Clare…. But I–"<p>

Jacques had stood up also. "Even if you do not sing in your presentation, ze more you practice, the more comfortable you will be, _non_?"  
>Ginger had started tap-dancing in her excitement. "<em>Ta-talattaa-ta<em> - It's a shame you can't –practice – _tataaa_ - performing - on a stage,"  
><em><br>A stage, huh_? Beetlejuice thought, cupping his chin in his palm.  
>The few bungling cogs in his brain started to turn. At first he was honestly trying to come up with ideas that would help Lydia out, but… it simply wasn't in his character. His thoughts fell prey to potential-scams and money-making schemes. It wasn't long before a literal light bulb appeared over his head.<p>

Lydia frowned. "Beetlejuice…"  
>"Huh?" Jerked back to reality, he blinked at her dumbly.<br>"Whatever you're thinking, I have a feeling I won't like it,"  
><em>Aw, shucks, she knows me so well… <em>He thought with an inner smile. Trying to change the subject – he didn't like how suspiciously she was looking at him – he wrapped one arm around her again. "Look. Babes. We've gotta work on your presentation first."  
>Lydia's left brow arched.<p>

"Firstly – the name – it stinks worse than I do."  
>"Thanks a lot!"<br>"Secondly –That speech'll put 'em to sleep."  
>"Well, what do you suggest?" Lydia asked, more irritably than she meant to.<br>"Don't be so _stiff_. Be the Lyds we know." Beetlejuice motioned to the others behind him, who, for once, agreed with him. They all nodded.

"Don't think about all the people watchin' ya, just pretend you're telling _me_," At this, he pressed both hands to his chest to emphasize his point.  
>Lydia looked at him, really looked at him, and imagined how that scenario would play out. Yes, it was true that she felt confident around him; she could tell him anything. But… <em>But… I get tongue-tied around even you now, Beej<em>… _For reasons of my own.  
><em>She opened her mouth to say so, when the Monster interjected. "I think that's a goood i-dea!"

Ginger gave her feet a rest for a moment. "Or you could do what I do when I'm dancing. If I get nervous, I just picture them all without their clothes,"  
>Ginger's timing wasn't the best. After it had been implied that Lydia's 'sole audience' would be Beetlejuice, and then to further add such a measure that she should imagine… well. Lydia and Beetlejuice immediately and simultaneously blushed.<p>

Beetlejuice seemed to recover a lot quicker, though whether that was because he was dead and his body couldn't maintain the processes it needed to flush his cheeks, or whether it was because he was good at hiding what he was thinking or feeling, whichever the reason, it wasn't clear.

"Err… how is _that_ supposed to help?" Lydia laughed nervously, averting her eyes. _Nice going, Ginge_, she thought as she tried to imagine her cheeks draining of the unsightly red blush. "It– sounds distracting,"

"If that's how her mind works, then maybe _that's_ why she hasn't hit the big time," Beetlejuice mumbled under his breath.  
>Lydia's own recovery was then instantaneous. She had to cover her mouth to prevent the giggle that threatened to escape.<p>

Ginger put her hands on her hips (well, the bottom curve of her pedicel) and opened her mouth to say something when all of a sudden there was a loud beep, followed by a series of panting.  
>Lydia felt a slightly warm fluid travel down her right forearm and she wrinkled up her nose as she raised it for inspection. Slobber. Her Droolex alarm had gone off.<br>"I have to go. I set my alarm to give me enough time to get home for dinner. Can I–?" She stopped. Having been about to ask if she could leave her design entries here to save her lugging them back home, she came to the realization that that probably wasn't the best idea.

It wasn't that she didn't trust Beetlejuice, more so that she trusted him to be himself; meaning she'd return to find them probably either ruined or sold.  
>"– Um, never mind." She'd set the alarm to give her enough time to carry back what she'd brought over anyway; she had so much with her that even if she did 'juice herself home she'd have to come back to get the rest in a second trip.<p>

She figured she might as well get some help carrying it all over to the Door. Having packed her flashcards away, she lifted up one of the dummies. Without her needing to ask, Jacques and the Monster picked up two each, leaving one mannequin behind. As Lydia breathed her thanks, they began to head to the front door of the Roadhouse. She hazarded a glance back, half-expecting to see Beetlejuice carrying the other. But… of course he wasn't. He was simply hovering after them.

_Well, what did I expect? He's an inconsiderate deadbeat after all. _Lydia thought, though not without some degree of affection. She rolled her eyes and carried on, opening the front door wide before stepping out into the grim afternoon.

Drifting past Jacques and the Monster (who both glanced at him impatiently), Beetlejuice caught up with Lydia, matching her pace. He brushed some loose strands of hair back behind a slightly pointed ear and switched his position mid-air so that he was reclining with his arms folded. "Uh, Lyds, I've been doing some thinking…"  
>"Did it hurt?"<br>"Oh, _good_ one, Lyds. No. I mean, about, y'know… practicing on a stage. Like Ginger said. Humour me?"  
>"Don't I always? Go on…"<p>

"That… singing thing you did. It was actually quite—well, what I mean is, you got something there. Know-whut-I-mean?"  
>"Not really, B.J.," In front of the door to her world now, Lydia dropped what it was she was carrying. Her two helpers followed suit.<br>She mouthed a second 'thank you' to the Monster Across the Street, who then took the opportunity to return home.  
>Lydia turned, starting back for the Roadhouse for the remainder of her things.<p>

Beetlejuice, not wanting the topic to drop, carried on quickly from where they'd left off. "It's a handy little cycle you got there. The more you do to get over your nerves, the more likely you are to kick ass at the contest. And, the more you do, the better you get at it. Babes, you could be the next best thing since the ghost of Elvis!"  
>He snapped his fingers, and his thick pinstripe suit changed to a classy, dark brown ensemble, ruined by the addition of large, mirrored sunglasses. "Naturally, your manager would be yours truly,"<p>

What he was driving at began to sink in. Lydia held up her palms in a 'back off' gesture. "No. No, no, no. Not _another _scheme, Beej. You're… insatiable!" She charged off.  
>Beetlejuice matched her speed. "Hear me out, would ya? Don't you want to be famous?"<br>"No."  
>"We could be <em>rich<em>,"  
>"You <em>never<em> learn,"  
>Instead of looking offended, he looked smug. "Sure I do. I learn each time that I'm happier when I have money,"<p>

Back in the Roadhouse, Ginger was muttering to herself and heading back to her room. Lydia scooped up her final mannequin, followed by her bag. She took this moment to stare meaningfully at Beetlejuice, hoping she could jolt a memory or two that would prove him otherwise. He just stared back at her. Instead, she said it for him, blunt. "No. You're not,"  
>"Aww, come <em>on<em>, babes,"

She shook her head, carrying her things back. Her annoyance at his complete lack of assistance was intensifying. "You're a bad talent scout, Beej. I'm not a singer. It's not a hobby of mine and I _don't_ want it for a career. Real World scouts wouldn't even look at me twice. Heck, they probably wouldn't even look at me once!"

Lydia's irritation with him had quickened her pace so much so that they were at the door already. Opening it up, she began feeding her things through the Portal ready to step through with them.  
>Her lack of enthusiasm was completely incomprehensible to Beetlejuice. He snapped his fingers, and was back in his usual clothes. "But… this is the Neitherworld, babes!"<p>

Lydia exhaled. As she did so, all her pent-up irritation seemed to be released. She stopped, and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "And I come here to spend time with you." She spoke softly, offering him a small smile.  
>Beetlejuice suddenly felt pleasantly warm.<p>

Having pushed through the last mannequin, Lydia stepped over the threshold herself, half-in, half-out. She gripped onto the doorframe, leaning towards him. "Look, I'll see you later, Beej,"  
>"Yeah…" Lydia couldn't tell if he looked happy or sad, it was an odd mixture of both.<p>

"No hijinks, remember?" She prompted.  
>He made the 'x' marks over his heart again, and, satisfied, Lydia nodded once. Then, without another word, she stepped back and disappeared through the veil between the worlds. A second later, and the three B-words wiped the door from the surface of the Neitherworld until the next time.<p>

As far as Beetlejuice was concerned, 'next time' couldn't come soon enough.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Beetlejuice had mentally argued with himself after Lydia had returned home.

He knew he'd promised her the day before (and again, before she'd left today) that he wouldn't use any Neitherworld schemes to 'help' her. But, promises had a way of slipping his mind like water slid off of a duck's back.

His will power crumbled after five minutes.

The Head Case was a new bar and open-mic night venue in the city-center. The small, low-ceilinged joint looked from the exterior as though it were leaning on one side, and like almost every other building in the Neitherworld, it was dark, gloomy and looked to be made entirely of scrap.

When Beetlejuice walked in, the place was filled with the most lifeless ghouls he'd ever seen. Figures were slumped in their seats, staring at the empty stage as though it were oblivion, stock-still. Had it not been for the occasional movement of a pint or two being knocked back, Beetlejuice would have assumed they were part of the decor.

Behind the bar, a headless body was scrubbing out a glass, while its head was perched on the countertop, brow furrowed in concentration as he looked at what his detached hands were doing. At the arrival of the new patron, the barman looked up. He hesitated; he recognized Beetlejuice from his many (usually front-page) appearances in the _Daily Tomb_ newspaper, nearly all of them bad press. But, a customer was business, and business was welcome. He raised an eyebrow, and offered an awkward smile. "Can I help you?"

Beetlejuice smirked and gripped the lapels of his suit, giving them a self-important tug. "Me? Naw, I'm past help. But I've got a friend who'd like to sign up," He motioned to the microphone spot-lighted on the stage at the back of the room.  
>The barman let out a well-masked sigh of relief at the word 'friend'. He quickly glanced at his body, saw that it was slacking, and went red in the face. "Hey! Don't just stand there! Fetch the time-slot sheet!" He snapped. His body, so flustered, almost dropped the glass it had been cleaning. It shelved it and dashed off to find the clipboard.<p>

Smiling broadly, the dark rings around the barman's eyes lined with wrinkles. "Now, when can we expect you both?" he asked pleasantly.  
>"Uh…" Beetlejuice thought about this. "Tonight."<p>

The barman's body returned, and placed the clipboard down on the counter for its head to appraise. He looked down, moustache twitching. "Hrm… we have a slot about ten. Shall I book in your friend?" A hand removed a pen from the pocket of his uniform trousers.  
>Before Beetlejuice could reply with an affirmative, the name above (and, therefore, before) the empty slot caught his eye. He groaned, but nodded. "Trust me, we'll be doin' ya a favour."<p>

* * *

><p>After a lot of convincing, Beetlejuice finally managed to get Lydia to agree to come with him back to the Neitherworld that evening when her parents thought her to be having an early night's sleep.<p>

Walking side by side, after who-knew-how-long, Lydia tried, not for the first time, to wrangle it out of him. "Where are we going, Beej?" she asked dubiously, her eyes narrowed. The fact that they had walked this far rather than driven Doomie led her to believe that he was luring her somewhere, somewhere where there wouldn't be an easy get away. This, in itself, wasn't an entirely worrying thought – she trusted him with her life, after all – but it did make her weary.

He replied coolly, hands in his pockets. "Like I said: to a comedy club, babes."  
>"A comedy club?" Lydia repeated, folding her arms and raising an eyebrow. "Full of third-rate comedians? I thought you hated those things, Beetlejuice?"<br>"I do?" He posed, playing dumb.  
>Lydia exhaled heavily. "You did, at least,"<p>

_I'm just being paranoid_, she tried to tell herself. _He promised me he wasn't going to do anything. _In fact, she was still telling herself this when they finally rounded a corner and The Head Case came into view. She squinted at the distant building, trying to read it's signage, but the only thing she could make out for now was 'Licensed Bar'. Then, the feel of Beetlejuice suddenly having slipped his hand in hers distracted her.  
>A not-entirely-unpleasant shock went through her and she glanced at him.<p>

"Come on, Lyds, we'll miss it!"  
>"Miss what?" She had time to ask, but he was already running and taking her with him. As she straggled behind, she imagined she saw him doing something with his free left hand, but she couldn't be sure; her attention was diverted by the feel of his hand in hers.<br>When she was a child it had felt different, not only because of her innocence but also because the size of their hands at the time hadn't been, well, proportionate. Now, they locked together nicely. Too nicely.

Almost with emphasis, Beetlejuice gestured to something on the exterior of the building with an extended finger. A sign read 'Head Case Comedy Club: Nonstop Comedy 24/7'. Lydia relaxed.  
>When they reached it, Beetlejuice pushed the door to and held it open for her, and the two stepped inside. As soon as the door shut behind them, the 'juiced 'Comedy Club' poster vanished.<br>If there was one person Beetlejuice didn't like fooling, it was Lydia. But there was nothing wrong with a little _helpful _fooling. He had to get her inside after all; he was sure she'd thank him for it later.

Not a moment after they stepped in, the spotlights that had been trained on the stage now swung in their direction. Blinded by the light, Lydia and Beetlejuice's hands untangled and they covered their eyes with their arms.  
>An all-too-familiar voice filtered out of the speakers. "What be that racket at th' back? Latecomers? Welc'me to the show, me hearties!"<p>

The spotlights swept back to the stage, illuminating the peg-legged codger behind the microphone once more. "I got one for yer! Two peanuts be walkin' int'a bar – one was… a salted! Assaulted? A salted! Gettit? Arrr-harr—ar-arrr…."  
>Lydia straightened, her face lifting with mild surprise. "Captain Kidder?"<br>Beside her, Beetlejuice groaned in confirmation.

Captain Kidder hadn't changed. His rotund form was still clad head-to-toe in exaggerated pirate garb, his silvery beard sticking out at all angles, especially where it joined with his wild, salt-encrusted hair, the paleness of which stood out in stark contrast against his darkly-tanned skin. His one, uncovered eye swept over the crowd.

Beetlejuice noted that the audience, which was at least more populated than it had been earlier in the day, were all trying their best to either ignore the washed-up comedian, or had taken to booing him.

"Did y'hear about the fire at the circus?"  
>"Let's get a seat," Beetlejuice mumbled.<br>As luck would have it, the only seats free were the ones directly beneath the stage – it seemed that the audience were retreating from it gradually.

It was clear the crowd were hoping the punch line wouldn't come, but all groaned when finally the good captain finished with: "It was… in tents!"  
>Beetlejuice slapped his palm to his face and shook his head in disbelief. He dropped into a seat at a lantern-lit table, and Lydia sat down opposite him, looking around at the oddly claustrophobic and dingy interior of the bar. It was too dark to make out much beside the stage. As she glanced up, she caught sight of a clock above the platform. 9:58pm.<p>

Captain Kidder knew that his slot was winding down to an end. Hurriedly, he said: "Arr- why did the lobster never share?" He didn't even wait for the set-up to sink in before rushing on. "…. Because he was shellfish!"

Lydia raised an eyebrow. "Is it possible for his jokes to get worse?"  
>"They're <em>killing<em> me. Again."

Captain Kidder opened his mouth to hopefully get another joke in when the head barman – not to mention owner of The Head Case and stand-in MC – wrestled the microphone from him with the hand that wasn't carrying his decapitated head. "And let's give a big thank you to Cap'n Kidder and his, uh, comedy act."  
>Lydia half-expected the crowd to snicker, but looked around to see a lot of bored, blank faces. They remained silent.<p>

"Next up: Lydia Deetz would like to sing a few songs for us…!"

The words didn't register for a good minute or so. Lydia's reaction was gloriously slow.  
>At first, she rested her head in her palm and smiled. <em>Wow. I feel sorry for whoever's up next. They need to be half-decent to make up for that travesty.<br>_She blinked. _Wait. 'Sing'? I thought this was a comedy club?  
><em>She sat upright. The penny dropped. … _Did he say-? _Me_?_

Beetlejuice was grinning at her.

As realization dawned, Lydia turned on him with all the rage of a bull that had just seen red. "B.J.! You–!"  
>"Knock 'em dead, babes!" He cried, and extended an arm all the way across the table to her back, where he forcibly (but <em>helpfully<em>) pushed her towards the stage. The knock was enough to get her on her feet, and from there she felt a hand on her arm. Looking up, the barman smiled down at her from his position at the crook of his elbow.  
>"Let's give her a big welcome!" He said as he pulled her up onto the platform.<p>

Lydia's face burned with horror and embarrassment. Thrust in front of the microphone, the spotlights focused on her. She was grateful for this only because they whitewashed her vision and she found the audience impossible to see.  
>Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, her throat dry. <em>When this is over with, Beetlejuice is going to <em>pay_ for this… I'll take him to the damned cleaners for this. _But she had no time to think on revenge. She could feel the audience's eyes on her. Clearing her throat, she smiled weakly. "Uh… good evening…"

Someone in the audience coughed.

"Does… anyone have any requests?" Lydia tried, hands fiddling with the stem of the microphone nervously. At this, somewhere beneath her she could hear a low, off-key and tone-deaf voice beginning to sing the first few bars of _Beautiful Dreamer, _except the singer had taken the liberty of changing the lyrics to that of a 'Beetleful Dreamer'.  
>Her blood boiled and she glared angrily in that direction.<br>She thought she heard an 'eep'.

Beetlejuice slipped down in his seat. For a minute there, he'd half-imagined her hair to writhe in her fury.

Taking a deep breath and exhaling, Lydia plastered on a very, very fake smile.  
>The rage was good, she found she could suddenly channel it into confidence. "… No? Okay, then, ah, how about one from the 80s?"<p>

Someone in the audience cheered.

Encouraged, Lydia wrapped her hand around the microphone and tilted it close. When she glanced at her hand and saw it was shaking, instead of losing her nerve she got angry. _I can't _believe_ he's making me do this. But I'm going to show him.  
><em>She closed her eyes, took one more breath for good measure, and began.

"_Where have all the good men gone, and where are all the gods?  
><em>_Where's the streetwise Hercules to fight the rising odds?"_

She didn't give a thought to her singing _a cappella_. After a moment it sounded like she was being accompanied after all. Out of nowhere, a backing track seemed to be slowly rising in volume behind her.  
>She opened her eyes. All she saw was yellow-white, dazzling light. Her extremities began to tingle. She felt warm, confident, <em>alive<em>.

"_Isn't there a white kni-ight upon a fiery stee-ed?  
><em>_Late at night I toss and turn and dream of what I need…"_

The change in the crowd was almost instantaneous. Instead of sitting turned away from the stage, the patrons began to face it squarely, and lean in, faces alight with interest.  
>Beetlejuice leaned back in his seat and rested his feet on the table, smirking broadly.<p>

"_I need a hero. I'm holding out for a hero till the end of the ni-ight.  
><em>_He's gotta be strong and he's gotta be fast and he's gotta be fresh from the fight.  
><em>_I need a hero! I'm holding out for a hero till the morning li-ight.  
><em>_He's gotta be sure and it's gotta be soon and he's gotta be larger than life. Larger than li-i-ife…"_

Beetlejuice watched as Lydia took to the stage like a natural, singing with real passion, her brow creased with emotion, eyelashes casting dark arcs on her cheeks as she kept her eyes closed in focus. From this vantage point, sat beneath her, with her lit up at all angles by a handful of heavy-duty lights, he suddenly realized how… how tall she looked, which in turn led him to realize that, yeah, she was gaining on him fast. Why hadn't he noticed before?

She looked… stunning. She looked like a… like a _babe_.  
>Someone in the crowd let out a loud, obnoxious wolf-whistle. It took Beetlejuice a moment to realize it had been him.<p>

Others instantly followed suit, enough to give Lydia confidence enough to finish her song but not enough to break her concentration or override her voice.

When she finished, her face was flushed with exertion but split with a genuine smile. She heard the backing track come to a slow halt when she stopped. She blinked. There really had been one after all? She supposed 'juicing up a backing track didn't take anything when Beetlejuice had understood from the first few words what it was she'd chosen to sing.

She wanted to get mad at him again, but her anger had faded. She could only feel grateful.  
>The confidence boost lingered.<br>The room filled with applause.

"Thank you," She said shakily, and she meant it.

For the next twenty minutes she stood, singing covers of songs that came into her head, feeling like a well-received karaoke star more so than a wow-factor performer. Nevertheless, the audience lapped up her act, and she was consistently cheered and applauded. Even Captain Kidder, who was still grumpy from the audience's opposing reaction to him, put his hands together.

Finally, when Lydia's timeslot came to an end, the barman enthusiastically clambered back onto the stage and put his free arm around her. "Wasn't she amazing, folks?"  
>Lydia blushed as the crowd cheered in agreement.<p>

"Let's hear it again for Lydia!" The bartender cried as she stepped off the stage, only to let out a yelp as his body dropped him to the floor face-first. His now free hands began to clap eagerly.

Lydia sat back into her seat, shaking from head to toe. Beetlejuice, opposite her, looked like he'd run a marathon. His face was shining with perspiration, and he was breathing heavily. His expressions shifted from pride, to awe, to guilt, and finally to forced nonchalance. "You were terrific, babes," He said. He had something stuffed in his lap.

"What happened to you?"  
>"Nothin',"<br>"You look all sweaty,"

He hesitated for a moment, before placing on the table what it was he'd been trying to conceal. It was a tatty old hat, the kind that buskers held out to catch coins in. And, surprise, surprise, it was filled with money.

Lydia levied him a look. "Beetlejuice…"

He threw up his hands. "Hey, I didn't _ask _for it. They were practically throwing it at ya, babes! Someone had to catch it all!"  
>At this, Lydia let out a laugh, which, in itself, was a relief. She sank back into her seat. "That was actually kind of… fun," She admitted.<p>

"No kidding. Look at all this, Lyds." Beetlejuice dipped his fingers hungrily into the hat. Coins jangled, notes rustled. "We could become _millionaires_,"  
>"Don't get ahead of yourself, B-guy. No one is going to make millions from tips at open-mic nights,"<br>"But this is just the beginning, Lyds! You could be the Neitherworld's next biggest star! Err… apart from _me_, that is,"  
>"Riiight," She stood up. Beetlejuice was happy to note that she was humouring him enough to pick up the hat full of money.<p>

Lydia flashed him a smile, and began to turn towards the exit, expecting him to follow. She went on ahead, moving lithely through the crowd, and gathered assorted looks as she went. Beetlejuice floated after her. "Don't you want to stay?" He asked, motioning around.  
>"What for, we've done what we came to do, right?"<p>

He felt a peculiar stab. He also felt like saying, actually, no, did she want a drink? Want to stay and watch the next act together? Heckle them a little, 'juice the crowd up a little?  
>He didn't.<p>

"Yeah," He said, and followed her out.

They'd just stepped out onto the pavement when someone from The Head Case exited after them. A heavy hand came down on Beetlejuice's shoulder and the ghost screamed. He wheeled around.

Four monitors mounted onto a suited executive body stared back at him, the top-right one tuned to the image of narrowed eyes regarding him distastefully while the other three displayed faces that were focused on Lydia.

Beetlejuice laughed off his own fright. "Woah. Shouldn't sneak up on people like that, Monitor. People might think you're a creep."

Mr. Monitor ignored him.  
>"Ahuhuh, Lydia, that was a-mazing," He said to her, withdrawing his hand.<p>

Lydia smiled back at him pleasantly but inched closer to Beetlejuice. Over the years, she'd grown distrustful of Monitor, if only because he had a habit of picking them up and dropping them with cement shoes whenever it suited him. "Thank you, Mr. Monitor. We, uh, didn't see you in there,"

"Ohoho, I was keeping a looow profile. But you! I had no idea you had such talent! Ahuh, if I'd known, we could have worked together yeeears ago," He laughed in his usual, almost nervous manner.

Lydia was about to open her mouth when Beetlejuice stepped in front of her. His clothes had 'shifted to that of his 'manager' persona, and he pushed his dark shades up his nose importantly. "If you want to make a business proposition to my client, you'll need to speak through _me_, Monitor,"

Mr. Monitor looked between the two of them. "Ahuh. Sooo, you have a manager for your singing career, Lydia?"  
>"Actually, I–"<br>"Why did you pick _him_? Ahuhuh…"

"Hey!"

"Actually, there _is_ no singing career. Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Monitor, but we really, really need to be going now."  
>"But Lyds!" Beetlejuice objected. Before he had a chance to suggest anything, however, she began to drag him away.<p>

"I'll be in contact, Lydia!" Mr. Monitor called after them, waving. When they were out of sight, he began rubbing his hands together almost hungrily.

Monitor wasn't an idiot, he knew Lydia's voice wasn't that of a superstar, but a manufactured pop star, at best. They had plenty of deceased superstars on this side, but not enough of the manufactured kind. Lydia was young, beautiful and _alive_. She was unique, she was new and if he managed to get a slice of her on NTV then the ratings… Oh, the ratings…

He _had_ to get her a producer.  
>He <em>had<em> to get her promoted.  
>But most of all, he <em>had <em>to get Beetlejuice to convince her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"'It's Showtime!'!"

"Hey. That's _my _line," Beetlejuice declared matter-of-factly, watching as Lydia squealed and jotted some notes down in her journal.

She was sat on her knees on the floor of her room, wearing a pair of grey cargo three-quarter-lengths and a pleated black tunic. Her long hair was kept up and out of her face by a messy clasp on her right hand side, but occasionally a few slightly curled bangs would fall out of place.

She raised her head, smiling broadly. "No, I mean, that's what I should rename my collection! For the competition! _It's Showtime!_ What do you think?"

Beetlejuice didn't have the capacity to feel flattered or modest by this. He gave her a thumbs-up as he levitated halfway between the floor and ceiling. "I think you've picked a winner, babes,"

"This is it, it's all coming together now!" She near-squealed with delight, closing her journal with a satisfied snap.

It had been a week since the incident at The Head Case. Since then, Lydia's confidence had been intensifying daily, leading her to practice more and more with her speaking, speech-giving and stage-presence (as well as singing). Now all she had to do was decide on a gimmick, not to mention script and rehearse a performance.

"I was thinking…" Lydia mused aloud. "… what about if I were to sing an introduction, for when the models come out all at once, and then open my speech and introduce the pieces one by one?"  
>Before Beetlejuice could answer, she gasped, scrabbled to her feet and dashed to her bureau.<br>He cocked an eyebrow and tilted his head on one side, floating closer. "Uh, Lyds?"

"I have a CD somewhere I made last year full of tracks for Halloween!" _Or, well, every day of the year. _She mentally added, routing through her drawers in desperation, trying to dig out the buried disc from beneath her pile of paperwork and junk.  
>"You'll be okay helping me with the effects, won't you, B. J.?" She asked over her shoulder. "'Juice me up some fog, some lightning…"<br>"Nooo problem, babes,"  
>The relief in her voice was evident. "This means so much to me, Beej. Thanks for helping." She turned to give him the briefest of looks.<p>

Beetlejuice smiled back. "Well, you know me–"  
>"– Aha! Got it!" Lydia pulled out the plastic case and popped it open to retrieve the CD. Inside the case was a neatly folded piece of paper that had a list of song titles, numbered in the margin. "I'll know the right one when I see it." She mused. "Let's see, now… Aha! Yes! This one's perfect!"<p>

Beetlejuice looked anxious. "Lyds, are you gonna be—y'know—comfortable up on that stage?"  
>"Well, why wouldn't I be? If the night you tricked me into singing at that bar taught me anything, it taught me that I can be confident." Lydia, nonetheless, paused. "Still, I guess I could do with some more practice…"<p>

Beetlejuice took that as his cue. "Monitor was asking for ya…"  
>"No, B.J.." Lydia shut the drawer she'd been scouring firmly.<br>"It's just a sug**_gest_**ion. Jeeesh."

Shaking her head, Lydia gathered up her CD and journal and placed it in the organized pile under her window that she'd dedicated to the contest.  
>Then, straightening, she brushed herself down. "Well, I'm bored of hanging around here all day,"<br>Attention piqued, Beetlejuice dropped to the floor, placing his feet firmly on the ground. "Good call, babes. Let's get bored of hanging around at _my _place,"  
>Lydia laughed. "Sounds like a plan. Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!"<p>

The world around them dissolved. A flash of blinding light and the tearing sound of thunder threw them into the Neitherworld.

Having said the so-called magic words and appearing in the Roadhouse living room, Lydia looked down at herself to see her familiar cobwebbed red poncho had wound itself around her in the journey between sides. Not that it was a poncho anymore, but a knee-length dress.

She glanced around at the Roadhouse interior, filthy though as it may be, and felt instantly at ease.  
><em>Home sweet home.<br>_She jolted at the impulsive thought, but then reasoned that, in a way, the Roadhouse really _had_ become a second home to her. And, that being the case, she'd get comfortable.

Lydia dropped down onto Beetlejuice's rotten old couch, in the process forcing it to belch out some stuffing from a tear beside the armrest, and glanced skyward as she reclined.  
>Beetlejuice had time to think – <em>Lydia making herself at home on my couch. You know I love it. <em>– when her brow furrowed, and her hands began to dig for something that had been pressing to her leg.  
>She pulled something out from between the couch cushions and stared at it critically.<p>

Beetlejuice watched, puzzled and partly anxious, as her eyes went wide, then softened. She let out an unexpected gasp and a giggle.  
>He blinked. <em>Wuh?<em>

"Beej. What's _this_?" She brandished the object incredulously. It was a thin piece of Frankenstein-patched paper, one side glossy, one side old and partly disintegrating, broken up in the centre by a strip of tape. Two photos, messily doctored into one. She turned it to face him.

On the left side was Lydia at her high school prom, in which she was being held tightly by a figure that had been ripped out of the photo. Odd, considering the person holding her was the same person in the taped-on addition to the right. The added photo was one she'd seen before, and likewise had had a figure ripped out of it too. It was Beetlejuice's prom photo, with his robot date torn out. It had been aligned to look as though his younger self was squeezing hold of his 'new' prom queen.

Beetlejuice's jaw dropped. His mind went blank, which was extremely inconsiderate as he tried to grasp for an excuse. "Uh…"

Cheeks flushing as she held it to the light, Lydia's nose wrinkled as she examined the photo, grinning. She would have felt dismayed at a waste of two perfectly good photos except for the fact that she already had a copy of both, and the fact that it was too adorable to deny.  
>"They line up almost <em>perfect<em>. It's like you planned and posed us in my prom photo for it…"

Beetlejuice's eyes bulged, sweat pouring down his temples guiltily. _AAAAAHH!  
><em>"Lyds!" He yelped desperately.

Lydia smiled, pressing the photo to her nose as she looked over the top of it at him. "There was nothing wrong with my prom photo the way it was, you know," She teased. "After all that effort to sneak you in…"

Whatever he had expected her reaction to be, this wasn't it. His shock mostly vanished, and with it he found himself able to move. "Eeee! Gimme that!" He zoomed over to the sofa and tried to snatch it from her grip.  
>Lydia teasingly raised her arm before he could get to it. "Uh uh. Finders keepers,"<p>

Beetlejuice recognized the game she wanted to play. He narrowed his eyes and smirked, clambering onto the sofa. She squealed as he pounced on her, trying to grab the photograph back. She held it out at arm's length, out of his reach. Even though she knew he could easily get it from her, by any means his 'juice' could grant, she knew he knew she knew this too. It was a game now, and they were playing it as equals. Besides, ending it early would be no fun.

"You want it, Beej? Huh? You want this?"  
>"Give it!" He reached, trying to pin her down.<br>"No!" She laughed as she leant back, moving her arm each time he got closer.

He raised his nose snootily. "The lady doth protest too much," He recited in a pompous accent, before beginning to tickle her.  
>Lydia near-screamed in involuntary laughter. "Don't! Ahahaha!" Tears began to well up in her eyes as he showed her no mercy. She tried to squirm away from him, but in the process made her dress ride up, it becoming rumpled and creased. Her hair came loose from the already messy clip, mussing all around her head as she shook it from side to side. "Beetlejuice! Ahahah!"<p>

Finally, the hand holding the photograph came up to bat him away, and he managed to snatch it from her.  
>He leapt back triumphantly, waving it in the air. "Got it! Ahahaha, sucker!"<p>

Breathless, Lydia leant back into the corner of the couch and let the last ripple of laughter die on her lips.  
>Her brown eyes sparkled.<br>When she eventually caught her breath back, she tilted her head. "Why?"

Beetlejuice made to pocket the photograph but didn't get far enough.  
>He didn't catch her drift. "All's fair in love and war, Lyds," He smirked.<p>

"No, not the tickling, I mean, why did you make it?" She pointed to the photograph.

Beetlejuice's face reddened. He glanced at it quickly, then looked back up at her.  
>He shifted uncomfortably, but after a moment of mental deliberation he blew off his unease with tall talk. "Well you know how <em>great <em>my prom was. I just… y'know… thought it would have been greater if my best friend could've been there, s'all. Bogus really,"

Lydia could read between the lines. She recalled Jacques telling her the truth about that fateful prom, about how it was a _Carrie_-esque disaster, how Beetlejuice was bullied for building his date instead of inviting her.

She sat up slightly. "You wish I was your prom queen?" She asked in a voice that was soft and unintentionally husky.

Beetlejuice's heart hammered. He made a mental note to wrench out the disobedient bastard and ask it why it was still beating.  
>"Uh… Well…." His mind went blank.<p>

"I wish I could have been." Lydia said, with such wistful honesty that her smile could have knocked Beetlejuice dead. If he wasn't already, that is.

The photo slipped from his fingers without him offering it so much as a glance. "Yeah?"  
>"Mmmhm,"<p>

That smile was very enticing. He found himself leaning closer to it. "Lydia…"

The doorbell rang.

"Yipe!" Beetlejuice came back to himself.

The moment broken (whatever the moment had been), he skidded over to the front door and flung it wide. He regretted it almost immediately. Eyes sticking out on their stalks, Beetlejuice screamed, jumping almost a foot in the air, and tried to flee in the opposite direction. He didn't get far enough. He was quickly wrestled into a surprisingly firm embrace.

"Howdy-do, big brother!"

Lydia's eyebrows practically rose into her hair. "Donny?"

The man in question was squeezing Beetlejuice so tight that his eyes remained bulging out of his skull. "What - are you - doing heeeere! Aahhh!" Beetlejuice choked out, before screaming again as Donny moved in to give him a family kiss on the cheek. He dodged it expertly and managed to burst out of his younger brother's arms, chest heaving with the strain of having done so.

Donny fixed his bow tie and flashed his pearly-white teeth in a movie-star smile. "Just thought I'd stop by."  
>He hesitated, taking in the sight of his brother's more-messy-than-usual hair and flustered appearance. Donny looked mildly surprised. "Why, Beetlejuice, you look more unkempt than per usual." He would have apologised for this, had he not suspected his brother would take it as a compliment. "Did I catch you doin' your chores?" He glanced inside, and caught side of Lydia for the first time. Instinctively, he waved in greeting. "Oh, hello there, miss Ly–"<br>Lydia was more rumpled and flustered than Beetlejuice was. Her legs were splayed on the sofa, hair stuck up all around her head, her cheeks coloured with a warm flush. And her _clothes_. They were rumpled beyond belief.

Donny put two and two together, and came up with three.  
><em>Oh. Oh my. <em>He looked decidedly uncomfortable all of a sudden. He struggled to meet their eyes, but did so to keep courteous. "Oh… I apologise. Did I… interrupt somethin'?" He tried to swallow the block in his throat.

Beetlejuice, who couldn't read a situation if it smacked him, extended a hand to grip hold of the door. His head expanded to three times its usual size. "Yeah, MY LIFE! Now get out!" He screamed, moving to slam the door in his brother's face. At the same time, Donny took a calculated step forwards, hunting in his jacket for something. "Now wait a minute, brother, I got an invitation here for ya,"  
>"And here's my RSVP: <em><strong>not interested<strong>_!"

Lydia clambered off of the sofa and hopped over the coffin-shaped coffee table, joining the two siblings at the door. Just as she got there, Beetlejuice succeeded in slamming the door to and pressed his back to it. "Lyds, get the back door!" He commanded, panting heavily. Lydia responded by folding her arms and narrowing her eyes back at him.

Donny moved to the window. He smiled politely, almost desperately. "Miss Lydia, you try talkin' to him. It's for an SOMFN event. For family," He held up an envelope for them to see.  
>Lydia's face lit up. "Oh, that sounds nice, Donny."<br>"_Nice_! Aghhhh!" Beetlejuice tore at his hair.

"Mom and Dad would really love for you to be there, Beetlejuice. And you too, Lydia." Donny smiled. Then he reflected on what he thought he'd walked in on, and averted his eyes, readjusting his tie. "You're, uh, practically family,"  
>"We'd love to come. Come in through the back door, Donny,"<p>

"We'd _what?_! Hey! Hey, now wait a second, Lyds!"

"Oh, I appreciate that, Lydia, I really do." Donny ducked out of sight, making his way around the back.

A high-pitched whistling beckoned Lydia's attention. She turned to Beetlejuice, who had steam hissing out of his ears.  
>"I'm not going to that load-of-hooey bull-crap meeting, babes!" He cried childishly.<p>

Lydia threw her arms out in disbelief. "Not even for your _family_?"

"Especially not for my family!"

"Not even for me?"

"Especially not f– Wait…"

The back door opened and shut, and Donny stepped in. "Here it is," He declared, envelope in hand. He'd learnt over time, however, not to hold things out to thin air in the Roadhouse. He stepped over to Lydia and handed it to her personally.  
>"Thanks, Donny,"<br>"My pleasure, Lydia." He said kindly. Before he knew what he was doing, he'd begun to look pointedly between her and his brother a few roundabout times. The atmosphere was tense.

He made to pose a question, got so far as to open his mouth, then stopped. Maybe some questions were better left unanswered.

He'd never thought it odd that his brother had found a best friend in a child, most people didn't in the Neitherworld. That she was alive intrigued some, but not the Juice family. No, what Donny _did_ wonder about was what his brother's intentions were now that she was older, and what Lydia's intentions were, for that matter.  
>In truth, he hadn't ever thought about it, it wasn't his place, but if you had asked him five years ago he'd have probably thought Lydia's life would have separated them by now, and they'd only remain good friends in memory rather than practice.<p>

Donny didn't want to think badly of his brother, he never had before even though he had had plenty of reason to. But a tiny, niggling part of his brain wondered– _no_. No, he wouldn't even think it.

"Will you leave now?" Beetlejuice demanded, clenched fists on his hips.  
>Donny checked his wristwatch, eyebrows rising. "Well, I suppose there is somewhere I have to be…"<br>"Yeah, Out of My Face." Beetlejuice stepped behind his brother and began to forcibly walk him towards the door.

Donny surrendered, and let his brother see him out. "I'll see you at the SOMFN event then, brother dear! Bye, miss Lydia!"  
>"Bye, Donny," She waved.<br>Beetlejuice slammed the door shut and sagged against it, gasping.

Not a moment later, his head snapped up. He positively glared at Lydia, a handful of snakes growing out of his scalp and hissing at her angrily.  
>Lydia was unaffected.<p>

"What did ya go and say that for!"  
>"Say what?" Lydia fluttered her dark lashes mock-innocently, tone sly.<br>"Agree to that—that bunch of hooey!"  
>"Oh, for crying out loud! For <em>once <em>in your life can't you do something for someone besides yourself?"  
>"Hey! Now even you know that isn't fair, Lyds!"<p>

He moved so fast she could hardly see him. The next moment he was stood directly in front of her. "Gimme that envelope, babes,"  
>She held it up but she didn't hand it over. "If I give it to you, you'll destroy it one way or another."<br>"Nawww,"

Lydia opened it up before his eyes to spite him and read the invitation out loud.

"'_The Society of the Oldest and Mouldiest Families of the Neitherworld invites you to a specially tailored family event. This invitation permits you to bring a plus one. A buffet dinner will be provided, as will entertainment.' _Hmm, it's this Friday. 7pm sharp."

Beetlejuice's anger dissipated. He grabbed the invitation from her. "Entertainment?" He repeated. "Babes! Now that'd be 'practice' enough, wouldn't it?"

Lydia, who'd let out a startled cry as he'd snatched the paper from her, hesitated. She chewed the inside of her lip for a moment, unsure whether she approved or disapproved of what he was driving at. "They've already booked the entertainment, B.J.." She said instead.

"I can see if I can twist some arms," He grinned, his own arms spiralling and twisting as though boneless.  
>"Beej…" She told herself not to chuckle, but her sense of self-control wasn't co-operating.<p>

He slipped a knotted arm around her shoulder, flashing a boyish grin. "If you're making me go, I'm making _money_."

She narrowed her eyes back at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Uh, I mean," He quickly revised his statement. "I'm making you a _star_,"

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Sometimes– you're so predictable, B.J.."

"You know you love it,"

She glanced at the discarded photograph that had drifted onto the table top of the coffin-table.  
>Her lips tipped into a small smile.<p>

_Yes. But you're unpredictability is incredibly loveable too._


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N  
><strong>I'm unsure as to whether Beetlejuice's parents are 'Gnat' and 'Bee' or 'Nat' and 'Bea'.  
>I decided to stick with the more, well, 'human' versions of their names for reasons that<br>may become clear later, and also because I feel like **a)** Donny has a normal name  
>and <strong>b)<strong> they never call Beetlejuice by his name, almost like they're ashamed of it.

Also, it's not stated if Sid and Irma are Juices. Because Uncle Sid has BJ's nose, teeth  
>and fingertips, I followed the folk saying that's used to describe boys' family<br>traits: that they take after their 'mother's brother'.  
>Some movie references in this one.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five<strong>

"Aren't you going out tonight, Lydia?"

Some time after five o'clock, and it was dinnertime in the Deetz's household.  
>Delia was looking over the takeaway-laden table questioningly, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a paper napkin. "After all, it is Friday…"<p>

The addressed young woman forked down a tangle of noodles and glanced tiredly over the table at her stepmother. The temptation to say 'yes' was strong. After all, she _was_ going out, just not on this side.  
>Lydia shrugged her shoulders slightly, almost delicately. "No, I've got to work more on my entry for the fashion contest."<p>

There was a brief period of silence.

Charles placed his chopsticks down on the table, appearing genuinely concerned. "But pumpkin, surely you've done it all by now, you were working on your entries before you even finished your semester at college,"

Lydia tried not to let on that her father was right. "You know how it is with art." She looked to Delia in desperation. "Right, Delia? Mom?"  
>"Well, of course, but… you're awfully quiet up there,"<br>"I'm just perfecting the outfits and editing my speech."

A look passed between Charles and Delia. They seemed to be daring each other to say something, and finally, hen-pecked, Charles cleared his throat. "Um, Lydia… pumpkin…" He looked very uncomfortable. "… do you have a, er…. a b-boy-friend?"

Lydia almost dropped her fork. She choked on the very air she breathed before she managed to gurgle out a response. "Sorry?"

Delia took over. She placed a hand firmly on the table and leaned forward. "The thing is, Lydia, last week or so you snuck out. Now, don't try to deny it, you went to bed early but you weren't even in your room, let alone your bed. Honey, we didn't mean to catch you out, I was just bringing something of yours back up to you. What we want to know is—why the secrecy? You don't _need _to sneak out. If you're seeing a boy, you have our blessing!"  
>Charles' expression was queasy. Maybe his blessing wasn't entirely concrete.<p>

Delia was able to last in the ring a little longer than her tag-team partner. Her smile was what she hoped was a reassuring one. "Even if you're just hitting the tiles then- good for you! It's nice to know you're actually, well, _socialising. _So. Tell all,"

Lydia blinked.  
><em>Went to bed early? Me? Sneaking out?<br>__Wait…_

It hit her. Delia must have been referring to the night she went to The Head Case with Beetlejuice. There was no point denying whatever story her parents had decided to believe, she could only be thankful they were accepting and not mad. "Uh… well…" She had to think fast. _What would they believe_?

She thought of Beetlejuice. She thought of their last anniversary. She thought of him slipping her hand in hers, and how her stomach had flipped.

Lydia put down her fork and pushed her plate away from her.  
>Finally, she gave a small inclination of the head. "Yes,"<p>

It was Delia's turn to blink. "Yes, what?"

"A boyfriend. I have a boyfriend,"  
><em>What am I <em>saying_? _Lydia panicked. She stared at her empty plate as though hoping the answer would be written on it. _And… why was I thinking about Beej when I said it? He's my friend. My _best_ friend. Okay, so he's a friend that's a boy. Well, a man. But that doesn't make him my–-  
><em>"You do?" Delia's joy was evident. She even cupped her hands together and pressed them to her cheek.  
>Charles looked like he would faint. He began anxiously fanning himself with a napkin.<p>

"Yep. You caught me," Lydia tried to laugh off uneasily. She leant back into her seat, curling a strand of hair nervously around one finger.

Up to this point, the Deetzs hadn't noticed that the silk-shaded lamp on the sideboard had had a black and white shade for the past ten minutes. Likewise, they hadn't seen the horrified face that had appeared on the stem of it not a moment before. No, the first they paid attention to this lamp for the whole mealtime was when its bulb suddenly and unexplainably, in that moment, decided to explode. The sound made the trio cry out and jump an inch out of their seats.

Charles went into a stammering panic, and fanned himself all the more with the napkin. "Ha, n-n-need to change that b-bulb… d-darn things blowing all through the house,"  
>"Never mind the bulb. What about the fuse, Charles?"<p>

Lydia wheeled around and looked at it. The lamp had a spherical wooden base and a cream shade, as it always had. It sat there, silent and innocent. Shards of glass glittered in the light from the overhead ceiling.  
>An uneasy feeling washed over her, but she couldn't put her finger on it. She pushed back her chair to go, but her stepmother stopped her.<p>

"No, you don't. Not before you tell me all about this boyfriend of yours,"  
>"Mom, I really don't think–"<br>"Spill,"  
>"I can't really <em>call<em> him that yet. We're taking things slow,"  
>Charles slumped into his chair in relief. Slow. Slow was good.<br>His wife, however, was still hungry for more. Glancing at her, he tried to calm her by putting a nervous hand on her shoulder. "Delia, don't interrogate her, now…"  
>"Oh hush, Charles. Lydia. Details."<p>

Lydia swallowed a blockade in her throat. _Oh hell…  
><em>"He's…" She thought desperately, brain trying to work at a 100mph. "He's…" _Oh God, think, Lydia, think! Where would you meet a boy? Where?  
><em>Finally she took a breath, and smiled weakly. "He's…Mr Beetleman's son?" It came out more like a question than a statement. She winced.

Charles' and Delia's mouths seemed to unhinge. Delia looked positively horrified.

"I… I didn't know he had a son," Charles muttered, while Delia looked like she needed a paper bag to breathe into. "He's _married_?" She mouthed incredulously, feeling sorry for the handy man's wife. She looked up at Lydia, puzzled beyond words, but still tried very, very hard to look happy for her. "Ah… what's this boy's name, Lydia?"

"Uh… B.J.." She replied without thinking. Almost instantly she was kicking herself. _Crap! No! Wrong move!  
><em>"Like Cousin B.J.?" Charles scratched the crown of his head.  
>"Oh! Haha, yeah. I…. never thought about that," <em>You're such an idiot, Lydia. <em>"Must have been a, uh, popular name that year, huh?"

Delia's curiosity seemed to be appeased. She decided that, though it made little sense it also made the world of sense. This easily explained why Lydia had been sneaking out. "We'll, uh, have to meet this boy," She tried to sound more enthusiastic than she felt.

"Oh, I'm sure he'd love that. I'd… better go, actually," Lydia excused. Her chair scraped along the floor as she pushed it back.

"B.J. Beetleman?" Charles repeated numbly to himself.

His daughter stood and tucked her chair back under the table. "I'll start work on my project. Um. Thanks for understanding,"

Delia smiled her stepdaughter out of the room. As soon as the door clicked shut, she turned on her husband, clutching her head in her hands. "Charles! What if they're serious? Can you imagine being related to that Beetleman!" She whispered fiercely.

Charles, already hyperventilating, grabbed the brown bag the takeaway had been packaged in. He was still breathing into it when Lydia had locked her bedroom door, changed and passed over to the Neitherworld.

* * *

><p>It was unusually quiet when Lydia stepped through the Door.<p>

Making her way around the front of the Roadhouse, she paused before the entrance, butterflies tickling up a fuss in her tummy. She checked herself down, hoping she hadn't overdone it. Wearing her cobwebbed scarlet dress, she'd taken it up an inch or so and had accessorised with a black belt beneath her chest.

Whilst changing, she'd been in a bubble of anxiety. Her mother and father now suspected her to be dating someone that didn't exist. Or, well, someone that _did_ but wasn't at all who she said they were, and who she _wasn't_ dating. At the same time, she'd been all too aware that she needed to get ready, fast, in case they didn't get to the SOMFN party in time. After all, she didn't know how much fuss Beetlejuice was going to kick up.

Looking at herself now, she wondered what on earth she was doing. Her hair was high at the back, the mound that was held up by a clasp backcombed, and long bangs ran over her dress at the front. She was even wearing makeup. She was even wearing _heels_. Impractical heels. In the Neitherworld, of all places.  
><em>What am I doing?<br>_She crushed any thoughts that wanted to answer. She wouldn't think about it, she _wouldn't_.

Lydia rang the doorbell and waited. No one answered.  
>Trying the door, and finding it unlocked, she stepped in. The Roadhouse seemed to be empty. Confused, and slightly concerned, Lydia called out. "Beetlejuice?"<br>No answer.  
>It was then that it occurred to Lydia that he was probably hiding so he didn't have to attend the SOMFN event with her. She wouldn't put it past him.<p>

She breathed out in an irritated sigh and shut the door behind her.  
>Checking the living room for any sign of him, then the kitchen, she decided to look elsewhere.<br>The door to his bedroom was shut. She knocked on it carefully. "Beej?"

After a moment, she heard the handle being fumbled with on the other side and watched as the door swung away from her. Sure enough, he was stood there, but he looked awful. The rings around his eyes were particularly dark.

Beetlejuice's eyes fell on her, but they were indifferent. His voice was flat when he spoke, hand on the door as though he were about ready to shut it again. "Oh. Hi, Lyds,"

Lydia's lips parted in surprise. Her mouth formed a small 'o' shape. "Are you okay, Beej?"

He dodged her line of questioning. His expression didn't change in the slightest. "I'm dead. I'm the complete opposite of okay,"  
>"No, I mean, are you all right? You look–"<br>His eyes darkened. "What?"  
>"Nothing. Forget I said anything," Lydia couldn't shake the concern, however. He looked positively wretched. Wretched… and <em>angry<em>. Like somebody had really done something to bother him.

He tweaked his suit and stepped out, brushing past her. As he walked by he took in the sight of her, and his mood seemed to plummet even lower. "We'd… better get going,"

Lydia didn't like seeing this side of him. She put her hand on his arm.  
>Beetlejuice flinched at her touch.<br>"Hey, if it's about this evening then we don't have to go. Really,"  
>"It's not that,"<br>"Oh." Lydia withdrew her hand. Now she really was confused. "Well, what is it? You can tell me,"

"I don't know, Lyds." He squared his shoulders and walked on. Lydia couldn't tell whether he was lying or not but she decided not to push anymore. She followed him down to the living room.

"I'm… here if you need me,"  
>"Yeah. I know," He shoved his hands in his pockets, turned, and offered her a weak smile. "… You look nice, babes,"<br>Lydia's eyes widened. She composed herself quickly. "Is- that a compliment or an insult?" She asked, cautious. After all, 'nice' was a curse word in his dictionary.  
>He seemed to realise what he had said, and his brows knotted almost sadly. "A… compliment, I guess."<br>"Well, thank you,"

They were walking out towards the front door together.  
>Lydia noticed the triangle of space that his arms made where he'd jammed his hands into his pockets. She steeled herself, and then filled the gap, linking her arm with his. Beetlejuice stiffened. Tiredly, he unwound his arm from hers, but eased Lydia's hurt by opening up the front door with it. He used the hand of that same arm to whistle. "Doomster,"<p>

Doomie beeped loudly, appearing and parking where the ridge met the Lost Souls Highway.

Lydia, trying to bandage the pain of Beetlejuice having denied her that intimacy of linking arms, stepped over to the living convertible and embraced the vehicle. "Hey, Doomie."

Beetlejuice slipped into the passenger side (even though, more often than not, the 'driver' side acted as a passenger side too) and sat, resting his elbow on the side, unusually quiet. He exhaled heavily. "Let's get this over with, Doomaroo,"

Doomie popped the door of the driver side open for Lydia, and she too clambered in.  
>She placed her hands on the steering wheel but her grip was lax. "Mm… we need to get to the SOMFN's Health and Fitness Club, Doomie. Can you take us?" After all, she didn't know the way.<br>He beeped an affirmative. That was the good thing about having a car with a mind of its own. Most days he would simply drive around aimlessly, finding new places and new routes to take them there.

Doomie pulled out onto the highway and drove off towards the city-centre.  
>The pupils set into his headlights tried to train back on his two passengers, his owners, and he beeped to try and stir them into speaking.<p>

Lydia glanced at Beetlejuice. His mood was catching. "B.J.?"  
>"Mmrnn?"<br>"Smile,"  
>Turning to face her, he smiled, displaying rows of his green, in-places crooked, teeth but the expression didn't touch his eyes.<p>

Lydia gave up. Turning back to the road and shaking her head, she switched on the radio. She hoped he would cheer up when they arrived at the party, else it was going to be a _long _evening.

* * *

><p>Not all of the members of the Society of the Oldest and Mouldiest were as holier-than-thou as their executive president.<p>

Once Doomie had parked up, Lydia and Beetlejuice headed towards the health club, surrounded by other family members and plus-ones that had arrived for the evening's event. Most were friendly enough not to look down their noses at them, at least.

As they made their way up the winding path towards the mansion estate that housed the club, Lydia couldn't help but notice how…. un-Neitherworldly the place looked. Well-trimmed hedges bordered the estate, and the lawns were manicured and evergreen. The building itself shone in the evening's setting sun.

In the distance she could make out Beetlejuice's family gathered on the lawn with a handful of other society members. Beetlejuice's mother seemed to be discussing something excitedly with one woman. His father, however, was stood shoulder-to-shoulder with a ghoul who looked as though his face might break if he smiled.  
>Beetlejuice groaned at the sight of him. "Uncle Victor…"<br>Lydia remembered him, but only barely. She'd only seen him once before, when she was about thirteen, and even then it had been brief.

"What about your Uncle Sid? And your Aunt Irma?" She asked.  
>"They're ma's relatives, not Juices,"<br>"Oh."

Uncle Victor had caught sight of them. He scrutinised them unhappily. Immediately, he began to talk to the suited man next to him who'd been mingling in a cluster beforehand. If it weren't for the cropped blond hair and happy-go-lucky expression, Lydia might not have recognised Donny.

Lydia winced. She glanced at Beetlejuice as though expecting his mood to worsen. When she saw that he was grinning from ear to ear however, she straightened. _Huh?  
><em>"This is _great_," He cackled, rubbing his hands together.  
>"It is?"<br>"Uncle Victor and Aunt Lucy will keep Donny occupied! I might not see them for the _entire_ evening!"

_But, surely they'll want to say 'hello', at least? _Lydia thought. She made to say so, but Mrs Juice had noticed them. She waved sweetly. "Oh, there you are, dears! Jean, this is my son. Junior, say hello,"

Lydia noticed, not for the first time, that Beetlejuice's mother never called him by his name. For years she hadn't thought anything about it, but now she had begun to. He wasn't named after his father, so why the nickname?

Beetlejuice looked at the elderly ghoul his mother was motioning to, Jean, like he'd catch an infection from her. He ground his teeth. Lydia didn't know what he would have done had he not seen that the crone was eating what appeared to be a bacon sandwich.  
>Beetlejuice grinned. "Pleased t' <em>meat<em> ya," He flicked a finger. The bacon turned into a piglet and squealed for all it was worth, running out from between the two slices of bread. It leapt onto the lawn, and hit the ground running. Jean screamed.

"Junior!" Beetlejuice's mother scolded. "I'm so sorry, dear, he has a condition. Literal translations, dear." She beckoned Lydia over instead. "This is Lydia. She's… Well she's…"  
>"A friend of the family," She said for her, stepping forward to shake the woman's hand. "How do you do?"<p>

Jean seemed appeased by this move. She placed her filling-less sandwich on the cloth-covered garden table beside them and shook Lydia's extended hand. "What manners," She appraised.  
>"And she keeps her hands clean too," Mrs Juice put in, proudly.<p>

Beetlejuice muttered something under his breath.

"Lydia, this is Jean Gardner. Nat and her husband play bowls together here at the health club."  
>Jean laughed. "And, while the men are at play, Bea and I have lunch,"<p>

Beetlejuice was bored senseless. He sagged, pouting like a child, and began glancing around, trying to find someone or something to 'juice.

Lydia made conversation in his stead. "It's good to know you're taking advantage of your membership, Mrs Juice,"  
>"How many times, Lydia, dear? It's Bea."<p>

Beetlejuice finally noticed the topiaries that decorated the lawn. His mood was now the polar opposite to how it had been on the drive over. Smirking mischievously, he zapped the nearest topiary – a dolphin. It turned into a shark. From there, the flora shark turned into a real one, and soared through the air towards the first poor attendee that walked by. The man screamed as he found the light smothered out by seven tonnes of shark.

Bea ignored the commotion in the background.  
>Nat, who had been stood for some time staring into a flute glass that was three times too small for his dustbin-lid sized hands, stepped over to his eldest son. Beetlejuice was cackling, watching the mayhem unfold as his first victim flailed. The only part of the man that was visible was his legs – the shark had engulfed the rest of him. Still, the ghoul was able to run around like a headless chicken, his cries muffled.<br>"Junior!"  
>Beetlejuice winced. He turned slowly. "Dad," Grinning innocently, he kept his hands behind his back, looking like a child who'd been caught red-handed doing something he shouldn't.<p>

"How's the job-hunting going, son?"  
>Beetlejuice turned his nose up before snapping his fingers in recollection. He gestured to the trio of ladies beside them. "Why don't you ask Lyds?"<p>

At the sound of her name, Lydia turned. Bea and Jean did too.  
>"Ask me what?"<br>"How's my job-hunting going, babes?"  
>Lydia blinked, raising a brow sceptically. "You're job-hunting?"<br>At the look Beetlejuice gave her, she gasped. "Oh! Oh, uh, right. Beetlejuice is, uh, managing my- my…"  
>"Her singing career. Yessiree."<p>

Bea clapped her hands together. "Ooh, Lydia, dear, how wonderful,"  
>Nat's face was still one of disappointment. He had a feeling this was another one of his son's schemes, and even if it wasn't, it wasn't the kind of job he had had in mind.<p>

Jean took this opportunity to try and make conversation with Beetlejuice, despite his poor introduction. She tipped her head on one side, smiling as pleasantly as she could. "So, are you married, young man?"

Beetlejuice looked stricken. Jean took that as a 'no'.

"My boy is about your age, he's around here somewhere. Lovely young woman, his wife. When he first passed on I suppose he thought that was it, he'd never find love on this side. But he did."

_Eyughhh. _Beetlejuice stuck out his tongue and feigned a dry-retch. Then, discreetly, his gaze slid to Lydia before he could help himself. That was a mistake. Instantly he remembered what he had overheard in the Deetzs' dining room earlier. He sniffed irritably and instead made a point of fixedly examining the table nearby. Flutes of an unknown alcoholic substance stood there, about ten in number. He grabbed one.

Lydia's eyebrows rose. "Um, Beetlejuice?"

He knocked the bubbly fluid back, but it wasn't at all to his taste. His face creased up in disgust. No, it definitely needed something. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a beetle he'd caught that morning, before snatching at a second flute.

His parents looked concerned. Jean simply looked uncomfortable.  
>"Junior?" His parents breathed in unison.<p>

Beetlejuice looked at Jean. "Happy for 'im. Really." He declared. He downed the second glassful, beetle and all, first biting down on the insect and swirling the combined taste around in his mouth. With the beetle, it wasn't half bad.  
>Jean recoiled in horror, whilst the ones who knew him best cringed.<p>

He rallied on. "Me? I don't have much luck with the ladies,"  
>He didn't even reach for the third glass. It appeared in his hand, the flute morphing into a martini glass, garnished with a beetle on a stick rather than an olive. In an instant its contents had gone.<br>"Women. I don't know what _their_ problem is,"

Lydia narrowed her eyes at him after the fourth glass. He was embarrassing his parents, not to mention her, and she found herself getting more and more frustrated.  
>"Don't you think you've had enough, B.J.?" She said. It wasn't really a question. She walked over to him, reaching up to take the fifth flute glass that had appeared in his hand. He batted her away.<p>

"Noooooo," He sing-songed obnoxiously back at her.

Appalled, she grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out of earshot. "What's gotten _into _you? What is your problem?" She hissed.  
>"I'm <em>enjoying <em>myself, Lyds. Isn't that what y' wanted?  
>"This isn't <em>you<em>. Stop it,"

He defiantly sipped at the glass. Lydia tried to knock it out of his hand. He moved his arm at the last second, and she missed by a hair. The contents of the glass undulated to and fro.

"Is it because of what that woman said?" She asked.  
>"Shaddup!" He cried miserably. He drank the liquid down, this time without the beetle.<p>

Lydia could see that the alcohol was beginning to take effect, however doubtful that was considering he was dead. He was unsteady on his feet.  
>A sixth glass appeared. Lydia took it from him.<br>"Hey!"  
>"Don't listen to her." She said with notable pauses between each word. She physically sat him down into a garden chair.<br>Beetlejuice was struggling to focus on her. His eyelids were drooping, though at different levels. "Why? Whut'd she say?"

Lydia shook her head in disbelief. She knew he was unpredictable but this was on a whole new level. _Unbelievable.  
><em>  
>She chanced a look back at his parents. Jean had excused herself, and was now nowhere to be seen. Nat and Bea were talking, Bea with her arms out and shrugging her shoulders. Lydia could almost imagine the conversation between them, and she felt ashamed on Beetlejuice's behalf.<p>

Whilst Lydia's back was turned, a straw appeared out of thin air, one end dipped in the flutes' contents, the other end wedged firmly in Beetlejuice's mouth. By the time she looked back, the glass was empty.  
>"Gah!"<br>"Got'cha, Lyds," He laughed. No, bad idea, it made him feel queasy. He tried to focus on her. "Woah. There's two of ya. Wait—no." He counted. "How many fingers am I holdin' up?"  
>"Four," Lydia stooped down to his eye level and put her hands on his shoulders. "Why are you doing this to yourself?"<p>

Beetlejuice sniffed. He stared back at her for a moment, those eyes almost… pleading. He then seemed to decide something, and he looked away. For a brief moment, Lydia had never seen him so dejected.

He shrugged. "No point tryin' to act 'nice'. Won't ever fit in. S'what Donny's for." He sat back, shutting his eyes and tilting his face up to the sky. "May as well give 'em what they want,"

Lydia's eyes widened. "Beej…"  
>Before she could comfort him, Bea suddenly appeared at her elbow, making Lydia jump.<p>

Beetlejuice's mother looked apologetic. "Lydia, dear, the director of entertainment has been asking for you. Apparently you're performing in the pavilion, dear,"

Lydia wasn't as surprised as she could have been. Exasperated, she glanced at Beetlejuice for some kind of confirmation. He gave her a drunken thumbs-up.  
>She sighed. "Figures. Mrs Ju– Uh. Bea. I really think he needs to lie down."<p>

"Ohh, don't you worry about him, dear, I'll keep an eye on him. All these years of mothering him, I think I know what I'm in for," Despite the way he'd been acting, she looked at him fondly. "He isn't perfect but he'll always be my boy, will my Junior,"

"Maaaaa!"

Lydia smiled. Beetlejuice maybe didn't appreciate it, but he had wonderful parents.  
>Her curiosity stirred. She wanted to ask that one question, about his name, his nickname, whichever. <em>Bea, why is he Junior? Why do you never call him by his name? That <em>is _his name, isn't it?  
><em>She didn't ask. Now wasn't the time.  
>Instead, she turned and glanced around the lawn. Sure enough, a gleaming white gazebo structure stood in the corner of the grounds, and was surrounded by a small crowd. Lydia hoped to feel a surge of confidence. It didn't come. "Well. I'd best get to the pavilion."<p>

"Oh, good luck, Lydia, dear," Bea patted her on the arm.

"B.J.," Lydia said as she turned to go.

He raised his head groggily. "Murrr?"  
>He seemed to then hiccup and belch at the same time.<p>

Lydia forced a smile. "Take it easy, okay?" With that, she headed to the pavilion.  
>She certainly hoped she looked brave, because she didn't feel it. Not even a little.<p>

* * *

><p>Lydia had been singing for the past half-hour, and a relatively large group now surrounded her.<br>She was paralysed with nerves.  
>This wasn't like her performance at The Head Case. Here she could see her audience clearly, could see their reactions, and this had a damning effect on her. Nevertheless, her voice had been unaffected.<p>

The crowd were smiling, and had applauded in all the right places. Donny was close to the front, waving and being generally supportive.

Time marched on.

She didn't want to be up here anymore.  
>She wondered whether Beetlejuice had sobered up any yet.<p>

* * *

><p>For the record, he hadn't.<p>

Beetlejuice was sat, slumped, in the same garden chair, his chin practically resting on his collar as he drifted in and out.

Bea had been distracted by the appearance of the health club's head of maintenance, with whom she was now discussing how the estate was kept so well cared for, and asking if he had any cleanliness tips.  
>In her stead, he'd needed a new chaperone. His Uncle Victor now stood beside him, his wrinkled face set in its usual, hard frown. His eyes were narrowed to slits.<br>"You're a waste of a good skin, Beetlejuice,"

Beetlejuice raised an index finger tiredly. "…. Nope. A waste of a _bad _skin. Ahah."

Victor continued as if he hadn't heard him. "How Donny turned out like he did with you as a role model, I'll never know,"  
>"Don-ny's a—a- goody <em>two -<em>shoes,"

Victor scowled. He folded his arms sternly. "He's a well-mannered young man who works as hard in his afterlife as he did in his life. What have you done, then and now, hmm? Why, you're still a slob, and you're still a bachelor, just like your Aunt Lucy and I predicted. Where were you when Donny was fighting for his country?"

Oh, here it was again. The Comparison. The Lecture.  
>This was Uncle Victor's favourite past time: talking up his favourite nephew, and belittling Beetlejuice in the process.<br>He remembered this lecture well.  
>Beetlejuice sobered up a little. "Y' don't even<em> remember<em> that. You were already six feet under by then,"

His uncle sniffed. "I heard from your father when he passed over. You were nothing but a no good hustler then, just as you are now, and that's all you can ever be. That's all you know."

Beetlejuice kneaded his temples. He wanted to turn his dear Uncle Victor into something crushable. "Y'know, I _really _don't have to put up with this,"  
>Victor ignored him. "You couldn't get a woman then, either. And you can't now. Why? You're unreliable. Look at you. Even your friend is ashamed of you,"<p>

Ouch. That hurt.  
>Beetlejuice glanced up quickly, so quickly that it made his head spin. <em>Lyds is… ashamed of me<em>? He looked around, wanting to see her face in amongst the people milling about. She was nowhere to be seen. Then again, everything outside of a proximate radius was too blurry for him to make out.

Victor glanced at his fingernails casually but sounded absolutely sickened. "Hmph. And that's another thing. Donny was telling me that he thinks you and her have been having… _relations_,"  
>"What's that supposed to mean?" Beetlejuice reached for another glass irritably. Victor didn't stop him.<p>

"Grooming a child into becoming your woman is a vile, evil thing,"

Beetlejuice snorted. He wasn't sober enough to fully register what it was he had insinuated. "I dunno _what _you're talkin' about,"

Sighing almost dramatically, Victor straightened to his full height. "I don't know where my brother went wrong raising you. Not enough discipline. Nate always was soft. That girl… That girl should know better than to want to be with _you_,"

Beetlejuice stopped paying attention to his drink. He wrapped his arms around himself, holding the flute at an angle so that its bubbly contents dripped onto the lawn. "She does." He said petulantly. "She's got a—a—" His voice caught. He made to knock back his drink, only to find it empty.  
>" –<em>boyfriend<em>," He spoke the word as though it were a profanity. His eyes stung.

"Ohh? Has she now? Then that's for the best."

Beetlejuice finally reached the end of his rope, which was considerably longer than its sober counterpart. He practically growled, glowering at his uncle. "Look… just… get out of my face, would'ya?" He screamed.

Victor… smiled. Contrary to popular opinion, his face didn't break.  
>Yes, baiting Beetlejuice was definitely his favourite past time.<br>He turned and strode away.

Beetlejuice's eyes watered. He wiped the ruddy things, trying to find what it was that was in them. No good, they were still running. He slumped back in his chair, feeling utterly miserable.

Lydia had a boyfriend.

He threw his empty glass. It bounced harmlessly on the lawn. He'd wanted that emotion-driven smash, and when it didn't come he deflated even more.

Ha. Lydia had a boyfriend, and she hadn't even bothered to tell him.

He looked up, the blurriness abating. There she was, over in the pavilion.  
>His Lydia. Spoken for.<br>Why did that hurt so much?

He turned his eyes away. They settled on a trio close by. Jean Gardner, and a boring looking fellow that bore such a striking resemblance to her that it had to have been her son. He, in turn, had his arm around a plain, equally boring-looking ghoul.

Beetlejuice got up. He stumbled over to them, which was no mean feat. He was only a short distance away when Jean looked up and finally noticed him. Her eyes bulged. She looked as though she wanted to call security.

Beetlejuice rudely inserted himself into the conversation, which consequently stopped upon his arrival.  
>"Yo, Jean, baby. This yer son?" He motioned to the bespectacled man before him.<p>

Jean glanced from Beetlejuice, to her son, then back again. The atmosphere was incredibly uncomfortable. She shifted her weight from foot to foot and rubbed her forearm with the opposite hand. "Um. Yes. Yes, it is. John, this is… er…"

Beetlejuice extended his hand, offering a shake. John made to comply, when Beetlejuice snapped his hand back quickly and made an 'L' shape with his thumb and index finger. He blew a raspberry. "Hey, I'm The _Ghost_ with the _Most_. But that ain't important." He glanced around the small, contained group and assessed the younger Mrs Gardner. He whistled sarcastically. "Whew. Quite the catch y'have there, Johnny,"

John glanced at his wife. She glanced back. They both looked worried indeed.

"Where'd ya meet her? At a watching-paint-dry convention?"

The man was far too naïve to be insulted. He stared dumbly back. "Um. Er…."  
>Jean solemnly bowed her head. "I'd, uh, best find Bea…"<br>At this, Beetlejuice snorted.  
>"Or –oh! – your lady friend. What was her name? Lydia?" Jean didn't know it, but this was the wrong thing to mention at the wrong time.<p>

Beetlejuice laughed. It wasn't a nice laugh. "'Lady friend'. Ha! Now—_she _is a catch. Know-whut-I-mean? _A-n-y _guy would be lucky to have my Lyds,"

John's wife bit her lip. "You've, uh… had quite a lot to drink,"

"No kiddin'. But… back to my point. See…. Lyds ain't one of those plain Janes. Naw. She's… She's _something_."

Jean was looking around desperately, standing on her tip-toes to try and catch a glimpse of Beetlejuice's mother. Or father. Brother. Lady friend. Security. … _Someone_. "Bea!" She called, helpless.

Beetlejuice closed his eyes. He wrapped an arm around John, leaning on him for support and half-weighing the unsuspecting man down. "Yeah… but she's spoken for now, see? Couldn't even tell me herself."  
>"I'm… sorry?"<br>"Yeah…. She won't even wanna _see_ me any more soon. That'd be it. What we had— dead_ski_. Split. Outta here. Deceased." He tried to straighten up but almost fell over. "So. Gotta be on the look out. Plenty fish in the sea, that's what they say. But… that's my Lyds for ya. What a catch."

He opened his eyes. They focused on a single point in the crowd. Suddenly, he found his ticket out of misery.  
>He tried to brush John out of the way. "<em>Woah<em>. Babe at three o'clock," Actually, it was more like twelve o'clock, as she was fifteen feet or so directly in front of him, and at a completely different point of the clock for the others.

John and his wife turned, against their better judgement, and followed his gaze. Sure enough, up ahead, was a brown-haired, long-legged ghoul with an alarmingly obvious hourglass figure.

Beetlejuice almost fell over his own feet. He swayed precariously. "_Now_ the party's just getting started," He declared, before making his first move in that direction.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Lydia was relieved from her position at the pavilion by the next act, a jazz band, and was grateful for the reprieve. Meandering through the crowd, she received the occasional encouraging pat and spoken compliment before bumping into Donny.  
>"Lydia, that was incredible," Beetlejuice's brother smiled, taking her by the hand and shaking it fervently.<p>

"Thanks. Have you seen Beetlejuice?"  
>Donny looked hurt. "No, not this afternoon. I heard he got kinda–"<br>"Squiffy?" Lydia said for him. "Yeah. What about your mother?"  
>"Barely seen Ma either, to be honest with ya,"<p>

Lydia glanced around, frantic, trying to peer over the heads of the attendees. "I have to find him…" She mumbled to herself, chewing her lip anxiously. She couldn't make much out beyond the crowd in this area of the lawn; she looked over in the direction of the garden chair she'd last left him in but he was nowhere to be seen.

"I'll help y' find him, Lydia," Donny offered.  
>She waved her hand absently. "No. No, it's okay." Just then – she thought she spotted him. The sight of thick black and white stripes stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the partygoers. Her face lifted. "Ah! Got him!" She was already running by the time she thought to call over her shoulder. "Catch you later, Donny!"<p>

He blinked and waved her off.

* * *

><p>The ghoul up ahead had noticed Beetlejuice.<p>

He waited for the usual reaction – dismissal, revulsion – but, instead of glowering in disgust, she waggled her fingers at him encouragingly. _Hi_.  
>He exhaled a whistling breath. <em>Now <em>that _is my kind of reception._

The woman brushed back her mane of chestnut brown hair, her all-black eyes narrowed playfully.

Beetlejuice's long, green-striped tongue lapped at the palm of his hand, which he proceeded to slick his hair back with. Time for the good lady to meet the 'Juice.

She separated from the group she'd been on the fringes of. He was but a foot away from her when he flicked a finger in her direction. The ghoul had time enough to look puzzled before her torso suddenly turned into a book.  
>She looked down at herself and gasped in horror, half-spilling her drink all over her.<br>Beetlejuice cocked an eyebrow cheekily. "Ya must be overdue at the libr'y. You've got FINE written all over ya,"

With a small poof of smoke her body turned back to normal. The woman, though shaky, exhaled with relief and let out a tinkling laugh. She smirked up at him rather wolfishly. "Why, thank you. A comedian, hmm?"  
>Beetlejuice popped his collar. "And not a washed up one neither,"<br>"Mmm, I love a man with a good sense of humour,"

_Must be my lucky day_. He thought gleefully.

She stepped the short distance over to him. A few fingers of the hand that was curled around the drink she was occasionally sipping were stripped of skin and muscle, skeletal.  
>"You here with anyone, honey?" she asked.<p>

Beetlejuice thought of Lydia. Instantly he felt like the seven or so glasses of alcohol he'd consumed wanted to come right back up.  
>He paused. ... <em>Yeah. Here with Lyds.<em>

"_A boyfriend. I have a boyfriend." _

Shaking his head, he sniffed irritably. Why should he be thinking about her? If he wanted to enjoy his evening then she'd support that, wouldn't she? She should. That was a best friend's job after all.  
>Yes. She would be happy he was meeting someone, just like he was happy f-... Well… he wasn't the best example.<p>

He realised he was hesitating.  
>"Uh, family. You know how it is,"<p>

The ghoul fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Looks like we both gave them the slip. Lucky us,"

"Yeah. Lucky us,"

Up close, she wasn't so pretty. She had no colour in her cheeks, (one of them was partially decomposed) and her skin looked almost jaundiced. Her hair was coarse, straw-like, and her smile was one of arrogance more so than one of flirtation.

"My name's Dawn," She extended her hand.  
>He took it numbly and kissed it. It was cold, emaciated.<br>When he straightened, he noticed that she was staring at him expectantly. He turned the charm back on, albeit forcibly. "Surely you've heard of _me_,"

"You're Beetlejuice," Her tone was accusing. Something about the way she spoke and the way she acted reminded him of an undercover cop.  
>'Dawn' swirled the drink in her glass.<p>

"You caught me," He kidded, holding his arms aloft in a surrendering gesture. Then, his pupils dilated at the sigh of her leaning in closer.  
>Her voice was soft and purring. "I hear you get in all kinds of trouble,"<p>

Again, he inexplicably felt like this was an undercover ruse. But then, he usually was suspicious when women didn't recoil at his flirtations. "We-ell…."

She was so close now that their noses were practically touching. "I could get you into more," She hummed.

He was distantly aware that he was paralysed to the spot, though with pleasure or fear he couldn't quite be sure. "Yeah?" _This girl doesn't beat about the bush much, does she?  
><em>She rested her head on his shoulder and wrapped an arm around him in an awkward embrace. He was too surprised to return it.

* * *

><p>Lydia had caught up to Beetlejuice at last, but she quickly wished that she hadn't.<p>

She stopped dead still a few yards away from him, and the information of what she was seeing took a minute to process.

Beetlejuice was with a woman.  
>He was flirting <em>with another woman<em>.

Lydia flinched.  
>She wanted to march over there and seize him by the arm, had half a mind to yell at him but… the woman- the ghoul was <em>staring her down<em>. She was sneering, leaning into him; it looked like she was going to _kiss _him. How could he just be standing there? Letting her?

Lydia's face flushed red. Her eyes stung.

* * *

><p>Dawn stayed where she was for a moment longer, her eyes narrowed and staring at something fixedly over his shoulder. Finally, she smiled cruelly and breathed into Beetlejuice's ear. His body turned absolutely rigid.<p>

She nuzzled him and for a brief moment he, too, thought she was going to peck him on the cheek.

* * *

><p>Lydia couldn't bear to see that woman's hold on him, couldn't bear to see him <em>with <em>her.

At the sight of their intimacy, she felt as tho  
>ugh someone had grabbed a shard of ice and stabbed her in the back. Her clenched fists trembled at her sides.<p>

Unable to take it any longer, she ran.

* * *

><p>Beetlejuice leant away from Dawn, who was still smirking.<br>In truth, the woman was beginning to frighten him just a little bit.

She tipped her head on one side. "…. Who's your friend?" She asked with relish, gesturing with her head to whatever she had been staring at.

"Huh?" Beetlejuice blinked. He turned instinctively.

Someone was running through the crowd, their back to him, brushing- nay, _knocking_ people out of their way. The red fabric of her dress streamed behind her, her heeled feet sinking into the lawn.

Beetlejuice's face paled. "Lydia!"

He took off after her. In his panic he forgot that he could fly; instead he pumped his legs as hard as he could.

"Lyds!" He was gaining on her. After chasing her past half a dozen topiaries and a beer tent, he reached for her hand.  
>Almost as if she had eyes in the back of her head, she withdrew it out of his reach.<br>"I'm going home!" she cried without turning, voice thick, her face screwed up with an emotion he couldn't read.

"But… Lyds!" He reached for her again. Before he could get to her, someone pulled him back, and quickly wrapped arms around him to hold him in place. He tried to squirm free, tried to melt out of the grip this person had on him, but just as he was about to he heard something he'd never heard before in his life or beyond. Donny. Yelling.

In all his years on earth, and in the Neitherworld for that matter, he had never heard his goody two-shoes brother raise his voice once.  
>Beetlejuice's 'juice was stilled into submission.<p>

"Now, stay right where you are!" Donny cried, wrestling him still.

Beetlejuice recovered enough to holler back at him. "Mind your own business!"  
>His head turned into the shape of a megaphone. "<em><strong>LYDS<strong>_!" He screamed.  
>Everyone at the party, save for the lady in question, jumped and turned. Those nearest winced.<p>

Donny recovered fast. He was surprisingly strong, for a weedy little thing, and kept him in place. "Beetlejuice! Leave her be!"  
>"What did I <em>do<em>?" He demanded.

As soon as Lydia had made it out of the gates, Donny let him go. Beetlejuice made to make a break for it again, but his brother jumped in front of him, arms out either side defensively.  
>Donny was panting. He'd chosen to answer his question. "Women tend not to like it when you pay attention to other women."<p>

Beetlejuice was incredulous. "Wh–?"

"It puts a strain on all kinds of relationships,"

"What exactly are you implying? That I can't have a social _after_-life when I have Lydia for a best friend?"

Donny appeared taken aback. After a moment, he managed: "I-Is that all she is to ya?"

Beetlejuice stared, just as shocked, back. _Well, what else would she be? _

His heart hammered in his chest, literally, as it tried to get out and speak to him face-to-face. He could make out a faint, internal murmuring from it – which sounded something like "_you're an idiot_" – but he ignored it.

In retaliation, his heart tried to send signals to his brain – memories of thoughts he'd had of her, of times they'd gone out that could be construed as 'dates', asking him what the reason was that he'd pieced together an all new prom photo of the two of them, the knowledge that his reaction to learning she 'had a boyfriend' was jealousy.

The memories were there, but he wasn't capable enough to connect them.  
>Beetlejuice scratched the side of his head.<br>Before he could answer, the rest of his family appeared.

His mother was rubbing her hands together anxiously, his father's arm draped around her petite form. They both looked troubled.  
>Aunt Lucy kept her round face neutral, but Uncle Victor was smug. He shook his head. "I told them they shouldn't have invited you. You've caused quite the drama this evening,"<p>

End-of-his-sober-rope reached, Beetlejuice blew his top. "Shut yer trap!" He yelled back.  
>A steel cage dropped out of the air and landed on top of his uncle, locking him inside.<br>"MNNF!"  
>"Victor!"<p>

Nat glanced at his imprisoned brother, startled. Nevertheless, he didn't move to help him.

Bea stepped forward. Her voice was surprisingly firm when she spoke. "Junior, dear, _listen to your brother_,"  
>Beetlejuice stopped.<br>His mother rarely compared him to Donny. (In fact, this had always been the one redeeming thing that he felt made up for her obscene cleanliness.) For her to suggest this, Beetlejuice shut up and stayed shut up.

Donny sighed.

In his quarantine, Uncle Victor's yelling was muffled to a comforting volume. Aunt Lucy was navigating her way around the window-less box, tapping on it to find a spot, if there was one, which was hollow.

Donny began steadily. "Brother, y'know we love you–"  
>"<em>Blacchhh<em>,"  
>"- and nothin' is gonna change that. Y' made a horse's rear of yerself this afternoon, but we were expecting that. To be honest, we were expecting worse, considerin' your track record,"<p>

Beetlejuice stepped off the ground and reclined mid-air. "I try my best,"

Donny's patience was uncharacteristically forced. "But you hurt Miss Lydia, and that, in itself, _is_ worse,"  
>"Okay! Okay!" Beetlejuice threw up his hands. "Enough with the lecture! What'd I <em>do?"<em>

"Junior!" It was his dad's turn to snap.

"Now, Junior," His mother rang her hands sadly. "Lydia's a lovely girl. I just don't understand it. I didn't raise you to be a– a– … well, I didn't raise you to be as you are, but some things just happen."

Beetlejuice tried to listen to his mother, but it went in one ear and out the other. He'd been looking towards the gates and the estate's driveway, and became distracted by the brief glimpse of Doomie. The convertible was driving off, with Lydia slumped in the passenger side. Doomie offered a weary glance in the direction of the party, but Lydia didn't look up once.

Beetlejuice's stomach flipped. He wanted to wrap up this family reprimand, fast. "Look– I'm s- I'm suh-… I'm suh-hoh— Gahhh! I'm… _stupid_, okay? So I made a mess of your evening, hey, things happen, I didn't want to be here in the first place."

Aunty Lucy scowled from her position by the steel box. Nat and Bea deflated.

"Look, I didn't wanna upset Lydia; I dunno what I did. But whatever it was, I should be goin' after her."  
>Donny folded his arms. He looked tired. "No. Not yet. Give her some peace."<br>"Oh, come _on_,"

Donny raised a finger. He then raised a new one for each point. "Security had to remove a man from the inside of a shark, Ma and Pa won't be able to look the Gardners in the face again, ye've just put Uncle Victor in solitary confinement, and you tricked Lydia into performing so you could womanise while her back was turned!"

"_Whaat_? That is not how– Okay, I admit to the others, but I did _not _trick Lydia into anything!"  
>Donny levied him a look. "And are y'sure that's not how it looks to her?"<p>

Beetlejuice's mouth fell open.  
>See, this was why he never hung around with his brother for too long – because his brother had the tendency of being right about everything. This… this stunk of being <em>right<em>.

Though he still couldn't understand why what he did had upset Lydia so much, the idea of upsetting her in anyway was distressing. He'd never wanted to hurt her.  
>Beetlejuice looked down at his feet and toed the ground miserably. If he wasn't before, he was now completely sober.<br>"I didn't _mean _it that way," He sighed.

Bea shuffled over to him. She put a consoling arm around his waist. "We know that, son,"

He looked up at the gates. Before he could move off again, Bea stopped him. "Give her some time," She advised, kindly. "Come on, now, dear. Let's get some food, hm? I hear they have Italian,"

Donny finally reverted to his usual self. He smiled a big grin, though he still looked a little tired. "This is the first time we've been together as a family for a while, isn't it, Ma?" He said helpfully.

The idea of spending an evening with his family without support from Lydia made Beetlejuice feel claustrophobic, trapped. He would have wanted to scream, to turn and run in the opposite direction but… somehow, for the first time in his afterlife, he felt like he had some amends to make. He'd landed himself in this mess. Besides, right now he felt too miserable to be sat at home, waiting for it to be safe to check on and apologise to Lydia.

He tucked his hands in his pockets and stood with his parents and brother.

Aunt Lucy frowned over at them. "And what about Victor?" She demanded, slapping the side of the steel prison. The flaps of skin on her large arms waggled from having done so.

Beetlejuice snapped his fingers. "Oh. Right." He smiled almost nastily. "You can _both _buzz off,"

Aunt Lucy's eyes widened. She began to shriek, her voice steadily rising in pitch but lowering in volume as she shrunk. A pair of wings large enough to carry her mass sprouted from her back. Uncle Victor's prison vanished, but he too had morphed into a fly. Against their will, they were both sent flying and screaming through the air as though on autopilot. Within minutes they were out of sight.

Beetlejuice grinned. Then, realising his company, he turned, waiting for the scolding to commence. Nat and Bea, however, were supressing laughter. Only Donny looked dismayed.

He relaxed as his father slapped an arm around him. "Come on, son." He said, and together they walked towards the estate's main building.

* * *

><p>Lydia couldn't even bear to look at the Roadhouse.<p>

After Doomie had dropped her off, tooting sadly, she gave him a half-hearted pat on the hood before heading for the Door. Focused on it, she tried not to let her eyes wander to Beetlejuice's home. She didn't want to be reminded of him right now in anyway possible.

Within moments after she'd stepped into her room, and climbed down the winding stone steps that encircled it, she found that that desire was futile. Her room currently glamoured to look like a Medieval tower chamber, a lump in her throat formed as she said Beetlejuice's name three times to close the link with the Neitherworld and bring it back into reality.

She dropped onto her bed, numb, and faced the canopy, her deep brown eyes mostly unseeing.

Her heart felt incredibly heavy.  
>One moment she wanted to grab something – anything – <em>everything<em> and hurl it around her room in a tantrum. In the next moment she wanted to cry.

She had no right to feel this way. He wasn't 'hers'. Why was she so– so–?  
><em>Jealous?<em>

No. **Disappointed**. Yes, that was the word. Disappointed that he would look twice at a tramp like that. Disappointed that he couldn't see a woman like that was no good for him. Disappointed that he couldn't see what was right in front of him.

…. _Jealous. _

Oh God. She _was_.

Lydia clutched her comforter, digging in her nails.

And what did that mean, ladies and gentlemen?  
>All the primping, dressing herself up to look half-decent for him, the teasing (hell, she should just say it, the flirting), the not being able to get him off of her mind and now this… this jealousy?<p>

Lydia's heart heaved painfully.

_I'm… in love with him_.

The mental dam in her mind that had been holding back the wave of emotion broke. The shock hit her with such force that it chilled her to the bone.  
>The waterworks wanted to begin. Her eyes stung, and she scrubbed at them furiously.<br>She tried not to listen to her conscience, but it was no good, the flood of realisation was coming hard and fast, and she was drowning in it.

_I'm in love with Beetlejuice._

She looked up at the mirror above her dresser, her eyes wet with barely supressed tears.

When had it happened? She wasn't sure it ever had, it just always _was_. There had never been a single moment where she had fallen for him, she'd probably been floored for a while now and hadn't once realised she'd tripped.

The realisation should have been empowering – beautiful, even – but it was—_horrifying_.  
>She was in love with her <em>best friend<em>. A man who hadn't noticed her feelings. A man who didn't even notice his own. A man who, only today, was flirting with… with someone else. A man who couldn't feel the same as she.

This would ruin **everything**.

Suddenly, she felt like she'd been punched in the gut. She curled up in a foetal position and wrapped her arms around herself. The pain was almost physical.

That was the reality of it all, he _couldn't _feel the same. They'd been friends since she was a child, so how could she expect him to see her as a woman, not to mention _his_ woman, now?

"Oh, God…." Lydia burst into tears. Her eyeliner and mascara began to run smoky tracks down her face, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

She was hopelessly in love with a man that was almost twice her own age. Someone who also happened to be dead.  
>For the first time in her life, Lydia Deetz was <em>in love<em>.

She should have been bouncing off the walls, not burying a face in her pillow to smother her tears. But she _was_ crying, and cry she would until he came for her.

Despite it all, she still wanted to be with him.  
><em>He<em> was what mattered. She had to let him know it, one way or another.

Wiping her tear-stained cheeks with both her thumb and the back of her hand, Lydia sat up. Her expression settled into one of grim determination.

That was it.  
>She would show him the woman she'd become.<br>What other option did she have?


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Beetlejuice finally staggered home close to eleven pm. He felt it was a new personal achievement: managing to stomach his family in such a dosage for so long.  
>He'd gotten a peculiar vibe from them; they seemed to know something about he and Lydia's relationship that he didn't, but he'd mostly managed to ignore it.<br>At the thought of Lydia, he wondered if she was awake still. And for that matter, he wondered if she even wanted to see him. The least he could do was try.

Once safely back inside the Roadhouse, he made his way up to his room, shut the door, and walked over to the mirror.  
>He knocked it softly before looking, knowing the sound would echo through to the other side. Upon giving Lydia that warning, at least, he pressed his face to the glass.<br>Within an instant, he was instead sitting in her mirror, more or less as far enough on her side as he could get without being summoned.

Lydia was sat on her bed, still in her dress, cross-legged. She was reading something, he couldn't make out what.  
>Her eyes were pink and swollen from tears she must have shed, and Beetlejuice felt a stab of guilt. For whatever reason, he'd made her cry.<p>

"Lyds?"

She flinched at the sound of his voice. Putting the book down, she managed to find the strength to look up.  
>Again, Beetlejuice felt that same stab. He pressed his hands flat to the glass. "Babes, what's up?" A few of the lighter items in her room floated to the ceiling, including the armchair and the items of her contest project.<p>

Lydia didn't seem to even notice. "… If you don't know then it's not worth explaining," She didn't sound mad, only drained.

The furnishings floated back down.

Beetlejuice had been worrying about what mood she might be in, but now that she _wasn't _yelling he felt all the more concerned. Somehow, the softer voice was worse.  
>He spoke slowly, trying to figure her out."Is it… because I… talked to that ghoul?"<br>This _did _prompt some anger, to his relief.  
>"Yes!"<br>Back on familiar territory, he turned his palms upwards and shrugged his shoulders. "Well, what's your problem? It's never bothered you before,"

He didn't know it, but this touched a raw nerve. Lydia grabbed a pillow and flung it at the mirror. He ducked it, half-expecting it to sail through to his side. "Eeee!"  
>"And how would you know?" She demanded.<p>

He straightened back up again, one eye closed, the other open and alert for any signs of a second pillow. When he saw it was all clear, he opened them both but watched her cautiously still. "Okay, okay, I don't know!" He surrendered, before his voice softened. "Come on, tell me what the problem is, Lyds,"

Lydia paused. She opened her mouth to do just that but then looked away.  
>"Just– forget it, Beej," She said quietly. A red rash crept up to the top of her cheek and stayed there. Shame, taking the form of a blush.<p>

Beetlejuice tried to cheer her up the only way he knew how. He turned his skin a deep sapphire colour. "Don't look so _blue, _babes,"  
>He was relieved to see the corners of her lips perk up.<br>"I don't like seeing you so… down," He admitted whilst returning to (ab)normal.

Lydia remained unmoving now, her eyes fixed on the cover of the book she'd put down, becoming distant.  
>Beetlejuice was afraid of her withdrawing into herself, creating a barrier between them.<br>He wanted to fix this. He'd never wanted to hurt her.  
>It quite soon dawned on him what was needed. After a moment of deliberating, he swallowed his pride. "Look. I'm…. sorry,"<p>

Lydia's head snapped up at the apology. She couldn't be sure she'd heard it at first. "What?"

He carried on, looking uncomfortable. "Y'know… for talking to that ghoul. It didn't mean anything, I was drunk."

Recalling the glasses she'd tried to wrangle off of him, Lydia rolled her eyes. "You're telling me,"  
>She glanced at him. Her eyes were forgiving.<br>Beetlejuice felt a weight shrug off of his shoulders. He took the plunge, raising an eyebrow. "Can I ask _you _somethin'?"  
>This caught her off guard. Lydia straightened. "Um… yes?"<p>

What he _had_ wanted to ask was why it had bothered her, but instead he resorted to that one question he'd wanted to ask before the SOMFN event, the one question that had been bothering him since this afternoon.  
>He steeled himself. He wasn't actually sure he <em>wanted<em> to know the answer.  
>"… Why didn't you tell me you had a… y'know… a boyfriend?"<p>

Lydia blinked, taking a moment to process what it was he was asking her. She looked positively bewildered. "What?"  
>"Hey, I didn't eavesdrop or anything," He said defensively. "I came to see if you were ready to go, and overheard you telling yer folks at dinner. It may not be any of my business but–"<p>

Such potent relief washed over Lydia that it rendered Beetlejuice's speech temporarily mute.

_He overheard that? _She inwardly gasped as things began to fall into place. She found it impossible to hide a smile.  
>That<em> was why he was so upset!<br>_  
>Before long, Lydia started laughing.<p>

Beetlejuice trailed off. He stalled, looking hurt. "Jeesh, Lyds…"

"No—no—Beej… ahahah! …. I don't- I don't have a boyfriend," Lydia said around her laughter, clutching her stomach. Her joy lessened the swollen look to her eyes and brought a healthy radiance back to her cheeks.  
>She could hope again. That was something.<p>

Beetlejuice looked confused. "Wh–?"

"My parents were getting suspicious about me not being in my room when I was on the other side with _you_." Lydia explained once she'd calmed down enough. "They wanted to believe I had a boyfriend, so I just... went along with it,"

Beetlejuice's pupils dilated as he registered this information. He narrowed his eyes briefly, waiting for the 'just kidding', waiting for her to dash his – what, hopes? – when he realised she was telling the truth. After all, what reason would she have to lie?  
>Without his being aware, he was grinning. "You mean…?"<p>

The sight of _his_ relief prompted an opportunity Lydia equally couldn't afford to miss. After being so broken up earlier only to find that this was all a big misunderstanding, she had to set things straight.  
>She narrowed her eyes at him, smiling slyly. "… Were you… <em>jealous<em>?"

Beetlejuice looked like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.  
>His face flushed as he averted his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck distractedly. "Me? No. No, no, I was just, er… concerned."<br>His blush was more tell-tale than he would have liked to believe.

After a moment he cleared his throat, and chanced another look at her before continuing. "Anyway, I'm surprised Chucky and Delia swallowed that story," He said, leaning back against the frame of the mirror.

Lydia's eyes darkened as she folded her arms. She was suddenly feeling quite contrary. "Why? Is it so surprising to hear I could have a boyfriend?"

"Whut?"  
>Beetlejuice was digging himself a proverbial grave. He shook his head fervently. "No, I didn't mean–! Look, I <em>meant: <em>they haven't met the guy. Who'd you tell 'em you were with anyways?"

"Oh, they believed it." Lydia smirked. She leant back, toying with strands of her long, dark hair. Now half-sat, half-led on the top of her bed, she propped herself up with her hands behind her. Then, remembering why it was her parents _had _believed her story so easily, her expression changed to one of anxiety. She wasn't sure what he'd make of this.

"Well… as far as they're concerned I've been sneaking out to spend time with…" She paused delicately. "… with Mr. Beetleman's son,"

"Who–?" Beetlejuice stopped as soon as the words left him. He stared at her. His mouth slammed shut. After a moment, he did a double-take.

Suddenly he felt very old.

"I—I- I'm not old enough to have a _son_," He gagged.  
>Lydia couldn't help but laugh. "No?"<br>"No!" Beetlejuice objected, horrified. He began speaking in a flustered and fast manner. "And even if I was, which I'm not, I am _not_ old enough to have a kid _your _age,"

'_Your age'_? Lydia thought.  
>She pounced. "'<em>My<em> age'?"  
>"Right," Beetlejuice's shoulders were rising and falling quickly – he was panting as though venting his panic. After all, he'd just taken a partial step outside of himself and seen, for the first time, his and Lydia's friendship the way others must have done.<br>'You're as old as you feel', so they say. Yeah, and Beetlejuice had always felt like a kid, and acted like one too.  
>But- he <em>was <em>in his thirties, though age didn't mean much when you were dead, being immortal and all that. But still, what had he been _doing_? All those years gone by, Lydia had only been a child. When they'd first met… he _would_ have been old enough to be her father. If he'd ever, y'know, made it to that milestone.  
>He felt unclean. He felt <em>wrong<em>. And not in the good, usual ways either.  
>Something else was bugging him too, something Uncle Victor had said (<em>accused <em>him of) earlier. For the death of him he couldn't remember.

He tried to calm himself. It didn't _matter _what other people thought, peoples' opinions didn't bother him. Sure, he was a creep, but he wasn't a _creep_ and Lydia had always been comfortable with him because of that. Her indirectly pointing out she'd be dating someone the same age as she wasn't a personal attack nor was it an expression of doubt about their friendship. And besides, he _wasn't _old enough to be her father now.  
><em>Nineteen. She's nineteen, remember?<em>

Lydia still didn't let the subject drop. She was sliding casually to the edge of the bed. "Am I pretty grown up then?" She asked in a velvety voice. "You know, for a 'kid'?"  
>Beetlejuice swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat. A bead of sweat coursed its way down his temple.<br>"What I mean is, you're not a kid," He said quickly. As soon as he did so, he felt instantly better, as though saying so could smooth over the cracks.

Lydia looked truly surprised. Subconsciously, she placed a hand on her heart and smiled broadly.  
>"… Thank you," She breathed, almost in awe.<br>Beetlejuice looked puzzled. "For what?"  
>"For… saying I'm not a kid."<p>

He blinked.

_Oh. Right. Di-Did I just say that?_

Before he could put his foot in it, Lydia intertwined the fingers of both hands and twiddled with her thumbs absently. She sighed, but kept smiling. "Today has just been one big misunderstanding."  
>Beetlejuice relaxed so much that he slumped inside the mirror. He let out a breath.<br>If that statement didn't mean he was forgiven, then he didn't know what it meant. "You can say that again,"

Lydia stood up, brushing herself down. "Are you still mad at me for running off and ditching you at the party, or do you think you can bear with me on that side for a while?"  
>Beetlejuice hadn't been angry with her for even a second, and his face sure showed it. "Hey, just, say the B-words, babes," He replied eagerly, reaching out a hand.<br>Lydia pressed her fingers to the glass, tip-to-tip with his. As she called his name, her fingers sank through the glass, entwining with his.

* * *

><p>"<em>Babes<em>! Look at this!"  
>Beetlejuice broke off into fits of laughter, his legs propped up on the table beside the TV that was mounted on it.<em><br>__That Darn Werewolf!_ was on, and running its last season.

Lydia came dashing out of the kitchen. "What did I miss?" She gasped, clambering next to him on the sofa whilst clutching her bowl of popcorn, beginning to snack on it compulsively. She leant into Beetlejuice, a warm, cosy feeling sweeping over her. It was particularly strong in light of her earlier epiphany.  
>This was nice. Sat here at who-knew-what-hour, lying together and watching their favourite show, she forgot the afternoon drama and let her mind empty.<p>

He draped an arm around her and placed a hand on her shoulder, something he did now instinctively without even thinking about it. Lydia wanted to tell him how much she liked that he did, but stopped herself. If she told him, he might become more aware that he did it and might stop.

Even after so many seasons, Beej still didn't know the names of the characters, which in itself made the experience more amusing. He gestured to the protagonist on screen vaguely. "He… He 'fetched'! Ahahaha!"  
>Lydia grinned. "Werewolf jokes. You know <em>we<em> love 'em,"  
>"Right with ya, babes," Beetlejuice plunged the hand that had been around her shoulder into the popcorn bowl and pulled a handful out. His companion playfully objected and elbowed him in the ribs.<br>Taken aback, he dropped his pilfered share. "_Oof! _Hey!"

Lydia tipped her head to look at him, eyes glittering teasingly. "You didn't say 'please',"  
>"Are you <em>kidding<em>?" Beetlejuice cried dubiously. "Lyds, this is _me_ we're talking about,"  
>"Well, all ri-ight…" She sing-songed back. "Say 'aah',"<p>

Laughing, Lydia plucked a single popcorn from the bowl, before swinging around and pressing it to his lips. Then, realising what she'd done, she stopped and stared.  
>Beetlejuice had made to accept it without a thought, but he too had stopped. He was now looking back at her, mouth still primed to take the snack.<br>For an agonising moment they were simply staring at one another, eye-to-eye, so close they were breathing the same pocket of air. Then the scene was resumed, and they both reddened hotly as she popped the popcorn into his mouth.

A howl from the TV set made them jump and turn back to what they had been watching.

Lydia's heart was thumping madly as she settled back down next to him. She tried to keep her gaze off of him, threw it around the room at anything that could distract her. It was then that she noticed something over by the door.  
>She sat up.<br>"Beej, someone posted something under your door,"

"Whuh?"

She went over to pick it up.  
>"And judging by the state of it, you've been walking all over it," Nevertheless the condition of it was not that bad considering it was the Roadhouse it had been posted into; she didn't need to hold it out at arm's reach, for starters.<br>Turning the paper over, noting the NTV letterhead, her eyebrows knotted together as she read the official looking print.

- BEETLEJUICE. LYDIA  
>PLEASE COME TO MY OFFICE AT NTV HQ TOMORROW, MIDDAY. I HAVE A PROPOSITION I WOULD LIKE TO DISCUSS WITH YOU BOTH, AND HAVE AN ASSORTMENT OF PEOPLE I WOULD LIKE YOU TO MEET.<br>I AM OFFERING YOU FAME AND FORTUNE; DO THINK ABOUT THIS BEFORE TURNING ME DOWN.  
>THERE IS ALWAYS A PLACE FOR YOU BOTH HERE AT THE NETWORK.<br>- MONITOR, HEAD OF PROGRAMMING

"What is it, babes?" Beetlejuice called from the sofa, stealing a wealth of popcorn in her absence. He muted the TV volume in his curiosity.

Lydia lowered the slip of paper, indecision written clearly across her face. "It's from Mr Monitor. He wants to see us tomorrow," She held the typewritten letter up for him to see. "Listen to this – 'I'm offering you fame and fortune', he certainly knows how to grab _your _attention,"

Beetlejuice leapt off of the sofa. "Fame and fortune?"  
>"Like I said," She held out the paper in his direction.<br>The ghost extended an arm halfway across the room in order to grab it and yanked it back towards him excitedly. "Ohboy, ohboy, ohyboy…"

"We talked about this, B.J."  
>"Yeah. Uh huh. Whatever you say, Lyds," He wasn't listening. He gripped the paper tightly, reading it through again and again.<br>"Beej,"  
>"We're gonna be ri-ich!"<br>"_Beetlejuice_,"

His head snapped up. "Whaaat?"

Lydia was tapping her foot irritably on the floor, seemingly a word away from reprimanding him.

He held up the letter. "Listen. Lyds. You seem to be convincin' yourself that fame and money is a bad thing."

_Isn't it? _She thought with a sigh. After a moment, she breathed out and gave up. If you couldn't beat 'em, join 'em.  
>She straightened out her dress fastidiously. "… Should we?"<p>

"Yes," Beetlejuice replied with conviction. He dropped the paper to the floor. "Think about it, babes."  
>"We don't need the money…."<br>"Hey! Speak for yourself! I know that I'd like ol' Crumby never to ask me for another months' rent again,"  
>Lydia narrowed her eyes at him. "Yeah, right, and you're telling me you don't charge Ginger and Jacques enough that it doesn't cover your lease?"<br>Beetlejuice avoided this accusation tactfully. He glanced down at himself. "Or I could get a new suit,"  
>"You wouldn't wear it even if you did,"<br>"Touché,"

Lydia sat down on the edge of the coffee table, resting her elbow on her knee and propping up her head. In a way, she was still trying to find an excuse. "What would _I _want with Neitherworld money?"  
>"It couldn't hurt to have it,"<br>"That's true…"  
>Stood behind her, he stooped to her seated level, grinning like a school boy as he peered over her shoulder at her. "I'm grindin' ya down, aren't I?"<p>

Lydia smiled despite herself. Finally she turned to face him.  
>"Okay, we can go to this meeting, but I'm not promising anything else, you hear me?"<br>Satisfied, Beetlejuice reclined mid-air happily. He turned the volume back up on the TV set. "Loud an' clear, Lyds. Loud an' clear,"

* * *

><p>The morning after, in glorious sunshine, a lime green convertible pulled into the Deetz's driveway.<br>The vehicle was expected.

Delia, who had been watering the flower arrangement she kept in the bay window, peered out nosily, attempting to scrutinise the individual who had just pulled up.

The car she recognised as belonging to Beetleman, but at the same time it looked different, or as though it were pretending to be something it weren't. Maybe her memory was playing tricks on her but she could've sworn the car used to be a Beetle coupe. Now it seemed to be a corvette.  
>It <em>was <em>the same car, wasn't it? It had the same skull hood ornament. It's- well, the only way Delia could describe it was 'face', was unchanged. The front of it almost looked… alive.  
>The license plate read 'D00M1E'.<p>

Delia could only make out the back of the driver's head. He had blond hair, cropped short at the nape. He was getting out of the car.  
>Before she could catch a real glimpse of him she heard Lydia coming down the stairs. Delia whipped around.<p>

Lydia was wearing one of her dress designs that she was submitting to the contest. Though Delia normally disapproved of her step-daughter's gothic inclination, she couldn't deny that the dress itself was beautiful. It clung to her top half like a second skin, but belled out at the hips. It was black and white, Victorian looking, with capped sleeves. The dress looked incredibly English, Delia would never have guessed that the booming Victorian-esque fashion trend originated in Japan. It _looked_ as though it were in two parts – a dress layered over a white, collared blouse – but it wasn't, the 'blouse' was attached. A black ribbon was tied beneath the collar, below which two black buttons sat vertically. The skirt-half had an asymmetrical, ruched hem that appeared to be gathered and pinned up on the left side, displaying a false ruched petticoat beneath.  
>It should have made Lydia look like a porcelain doll. It didn't. Her make-up was mostly natural, yet smoky and sultry.<p>

Delia placed her hands on her hips. "Now, Lydia… don't get me wrong, you look beautiful, dear, but that's hardly what I would have chosen for a _date_,"  
>The doorbell rang. Delia jumped a little.<br>She went to get the door but Lydia got there first.

Stood on the doorstep was a pale, thin young man that appeared to be a few years or so older than Lydia, but not as many as was the case in reality. His eyes, which were green, were surrounded by bruised, dark rings. Lack of sleep, Delia assumed, something his father, judging by the looks of him, seemed to suffer from too.  
>He had short hair with a grown out fringe that he'd combed and slicked into a side parting. He was wearing a white shirt and black-and-white stripe tie, with a black cardigan slung over one arm. On his legs – matching trousers and boots.<p>

At the sight of Lydia he smiled widely, but didn't show his teeth. He waved. "Hey, Lydia,"  
>She had to suppress a gasp and a laugh.<p>

Lydia had half-expected Beetlejuice to arrive looking as he had at his Prom, but not like _this_. Not like he'd put real effort into it. It was almost as though he _wanted_ to look like a… like a 'nice young man'. The only time she'd seen his hair like this was once before when a corrective employee of the Bureau of Sweetness and Prissiness had gone on a power trip.

"Hey to you too, B. J.." She half-laughed back. That they didn't have to act much made things easier.

Delia stepped in front of Lydia. Her lips were pursed but she tried to remain polite. "You must be Mr Beetleman's son,"  
>'B. J.' looked at her, faking a naïve expression, eyebrows high. He smiled politely, still only with his lips. "Oh, yes, ma'am." He said.<br>Lydia slapped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from sniggering.

Delia inspected the boy suspiciously. She hadn't known quite what to expect, but this certainly wasn't it. She couldn't help the accusing tone. "He's never mentioned you before,"  
>"I– only just moved into the <em>neigh<em>bourhood." B. J. explained with but the smallest hesitation.  
>Lydia was starting to worry that if he kept smiling like that his face would freeze that way.<p>

Delia filled in the gaps of the story, as she was often quite happy to do without realising. Yes, that adequately explained how this young man seemed to have a politer, trustworthier disposition than his father. He must have lived with his mother, or another relative, and had only just came back into his father's life.

Charles appeared out of nowhere, and having the three standing at the door made things a little crowded. "You're B. J.?" he asked as Lydia stepped out onto the porch.  
>Beetlejuice clasped his hands behind his back. "Yes, sir,"<br>Again, Lydia tried very hard to keep her face neutral.

Charles took in the sight of the foreign car in their driveway. He looked between it, Beetlejuice and Lydia uneasily. "I… see you have the intention of driving,"  
>"Oh, I'm a very <em>sensible<em> driver, sir," B. J. said, still remaining courteous.  
>Charles rung his hands nervously. "I- I hope so."<p>

Lydia moved closer to Beetlejuice.  
>Luckily things were going well, and she wanted it to stay that way. "We'd better be off, huh, B. J.?" She prompted.<br>Beetlejuice gave her a thumbs-up sign behind his back.  
>"Oh, yeah." He held out a hand to Lydia. She took it gladly.<br>"Later, Mom. Dad."  
>"Nice to meet you, Mr and Mrs Deetz," B. J. excused, and the two began to make their way down the many steps to the hillside drive where Doomie, relatively disguised, was parked.<p>

Delia spoke up. "You must come for dinner sometime, B. J.!" She cried, waving after the two of them.  
>Beetlejuice flinched at the very idea. Sitting still for a big slap-up meal, at a table with Chucky and Delia, masquerading as a polite boyfriend that you'd <em>love <em>to take home to Mumsy and Dadsy? Rough questioning, improvising, and _no beetles_?  
>He turned. "I'm lookin' forward to it!" He called back unsteadily through gritted teeth as he opened up the passenger side for Lydia. She climbed in, now giggling under her breath. As Beetlejuice walked around to the driver's side, Doomie let out a little snicker.<p>

Lydia gave a slight wave as they took to the road and drove off.

As soon as they were out of view from her parents' potential spying eyes and taking the main road out towards the Mondo Mall, she glanced at the ghost next to her snidely. He looked handsome like that, there was no mistaking it, yet, at the same time, he wasn't as – (Lydia grasped at the right word) – _attractive_, however contradictory that may be.  
>It wasn't <em>him<em>. It was a false ideal of what others might want him to be, and Lydia didn't expect that of him.  
>Now her laughter came full and steady. "What possessed you to look like <em>that<em>?"

Beetlejuice turned to her, removing his hands from the steering wheel. Doomie kept driving straight.  
>"Wha-aat? It worked, didn't it?" He objected. He knew what she meant however; he had every intention of burning that cardigan, for one, when he got home.<br>As soon as it was safe there was a flash of light and Beetlejuice was back to his normal self. He flashed her a grin, this time displaying his teeth.  
>Lydia grinned. Yes. Much better.<p>

Brimming with both confidence and gratitude, she leant over and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. "Yes. And I'm really, really grateful. Thank you, Beej,"

Beetlejuice, stunned, touched a hand to his cheek as she pulled away. It was still warm from where her lips had brushed his skin. His whole body tingled as though someone had pressed a live wire to his nerves.  
><em>... I know I've never washed it before, but I'd rather face an army of sandworms before washing that cheek again. <em>  
>He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. He found his gaze drawn to her lips like a magnet. His lips wanted to be magnetised to them too.<br>Shaking himself down firmly, he forcibly turned back to the road.

Trembling, he tried to regain his cool, placing his hands back on the steering wheel. It wasn't necessary, but he found he didn't shake so much when he had something to grab hold of. "We-e-ell, just say the words, babes. Then it's goodbye poverty and _hellooo_ celebrity," He said, voice cracking slightly.  
>Doomie beeped in agreement.<p>

To say Lydia felt good about herself was an understatement. She raised her hands, rollercoaster-riding fashion. "We'll see about that. Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!"  
>And with that, the three vanished in a flash of bursting light.<p>

* * *

><p>It was only after B. J. and Lydia had left and Delia had resumed watering her flowers that she realised something.<p>

Firstly, B. J. looked far too grown up to be a son of Mr Beetleman's. Supposing that man had a child, she would have put them at half B. J's age. She'd have thought he were adopted had it not been for the family resemblance.  
>And secondly, speaking of the handy man, how old was he <em>anyway<em>? He couldn't be any more than his mid-thirties, but he'd looked that way since the first day they'd met. That man never seemed to _age_.

She bent down to a planter of tulips, pouting slightly. "Some people have all the luck when it comes to looking youthful."  
>Simple-minded as ever, she poured some water into the flowerpot. "I <em>must <em>find out his secret,"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Monitor was pacing back and forth behind his heavy oak desk, cupping his 'chin' (the juncture between the bottom of the two screens that made up his lower face), in deliberation.

A woman was sat in his office, facing him, her legs crossed at the knee and riding up her pencil skirt. Her face, framed by voluminous chestnut hair, was stoic yet, at the same time, quite predatory.  
>"You were supposed to be outside," She said reproachfully, lighting a cigarette.<p>

Monitor's four faces looked troubled. "I had business to attend to," He replied vaguely.

The woman scoffed in reply, her free hand running through her hair. Moulted strands wrapped themselves around her fingers, three of which were missing both skin and flesh. "That's easy enough for you to say." She said with an aggression that was barely held in check. "I want more money. It was bad enough having to _talk _to that creep, let alone touch him,"

One of Monitor's faces rolled its eyes. His back to her, the four screens flashed with the words - 'LIAR', 'SKANK', 'WHORE' and 'DESPERATE' (the last wrapped into two lines on account of its size).  
>He readjusted the cufflinks on one sleeve. "As far as I heard, ahuh, you were <em>all over<em> him," He baited, snidely.

The woman glowered, tendrils of smoke writhing from the end of her cigarette. "I had to make it look believable, didn't I? Look, you were supposed to be there to comfort the girl and convince her to be the butt of whatever scheme you're plotting. It was your screw-up, not mine. I'm not getting involved again."

Monitor turned, facial-screens all back to displaying their usual firm and tired expressions. He sat down in his chair heavily. "Suit yourself, Miss O'Zidead." He gestured to the door. "My receptionist will pay you your money,"

The ghoul sniffed. "Right. That's what I thought,"  
>She stood, taking a drag on her cigarette before blowing out a thin trail of smoke. "Pleasure doing business with you, Monitor."<br>As she exited, she tapped her cigarette, leaving a deposit of ash on the plush, executive carpet. "Not", she mouthed. The same words appeared in quadruple all over Monitor's face.

* * *

><p>Doomie came to a gentle stop and parked outside of NTV's studio-and-offices building, in the shadow of the Head of the Network's tower.<br>Beetlejuice was first to step out onto the concrete—except it didn't quite happen that way. As soon as his foot touched down on the ground his legs gave way beneath him, stringy and wobbly.  
><em>Woah! My legs are like jelly<em>. Trying to pull himself up on his feet, and struggling, he tried not to think about why his legs had caved, even though he could still feel the ghost of Lydia's lips brushing against his cheek.

Lydia dashed around to him. "Need a hand there, Beej?"  
>"No, but a pair of legs should do it," He said as she helped him up. As soon as she did so they became solid again, and he found he could walk once more. "Thanks, babes,"<p>

"We'd better move fast, I wouldn't want to keep Monitor waiting,"  
>"Uh, yeah." Beetlejuice turned and waved their convertible over. "– Doomie!" He assumed his upper class, intellectual persona. "We will rendezvous at a later point this afternoon."<br>The car honked in recognition.

* * *

><p>Beetlejuice and Lydia were used to the inside of the NTV building, and so were mostly underwhelmed. Having taken the elevator up to Monitor's office, they were shown into a waiting room by an attendant who had been stood in the elevator lobby anticipating their arrival.<br>Beetlejuice and Lydia looked at one another. Classy. They both began to feel a little more appreciated than per their normal visits to this same office.

Sitting down in deep armchairs while they waited for Monitor to call for them, Beetlejuice gasped at the sight of the latest copy of _Slime_ magazine on the coffee table and reached for it; he hadn't yet managed to get through his own copy.  
>Lydia drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair, watching the clock. As soon as it struck for midday, the oak double doors on her left swung open.<br>The receptionist behind her desk stood. "Mr Monitor will see you now,"

Beetlejuice rolled up the magazine and tucked it in the inside of his suit jacket. "Save _that _for later," He said, before the two of them walked into the high-ceilinged, well-kept office.

A large table had been brought in, with five chairs on either side and one at both of the short ends. Monitor was sat at the end facing them, and a strange woman was on his left. He stood, raising his hands. "Lydia! I'm _soo _glad you could make it, ahuh." He began to eagerly make his way over, rubbing his hands together. At the sight of Beetlejuice however, four noses wrinkled unhappily. "Oh… and uh, you too, Beetlejuice."  
>Said Ghost with the Most, hands in his pockets, frowned.<p>

Monitor cleared his throat and motioned to the woman seated at the table. "Lydia, I would like you to meet Mrs Violet Nell." The woman stood. "She's a producer at the Neitherworld Universal Record Label. She's _veery _interested in you,"

Violet's deep red hair was tied up into a perfectly neat ponytail. Her face, accessorised with thin, rectangular spectacles, was pinched and firm, and a holier-than-thou air gathered around her. Nevertheless, she smiled in an assuring, patient manner, though even that may only have been because the situation suited her. "Yes, well. Happy to make your acquaintance, Miss Deetz. You may call me Vi." Her voice was thick with a German accent. She extended her hand.  
>Lydia shook it courteously. "Pleased to meet you, Mrs Vi Nell."<p>

"Please, everyone take a seat." Monitor gestured.  
>Beetlejuice smirked. He reached out to the nearest chair and held the back of it in a manner that some would take as him being ready to pull it back to seat himself, but Lydia knew him too well.<br>"Don't mind if I–" Before he even got so far as to lift the chair off of the ground, Lydia coughed emphatically. "He means sit down, Beej."

He looked up at her, surprised, only to find that she hadn't even been looking at him, that she'd spoken on instinct. She had taken to her seat and had pulled out the one beside her for him to settle into, and as he watched she turned to look him with wordless insistence.  
>Beetlejuice wasn't used to being beaten to his own punch line. His eyes dilated, becoming large and puppy-hurt, but he eventually wilted as Lydia continued to stare him down. Submitting to her will, he pouted and sat down heavily beside her like a child about to tantrum.<p>

"Ahahah." Monitor laughed nervously. "Uh, as Vi and I were saying, we are particularly keen to get your career started, Lydia,"  
>Lydia was reminded why they were here in the first place. She fidgeted where she sat. "Forgive me but, Monitor, I don't understand. You've only heard me sing once in a karaoke act, and Mrs Nell hasn't heard me at all,"<p>

Violet pushed her glasses higher up her nose. She began fishing around in a handbag sat beside her. "Oh, that isn't true." She pulled something out of it and held it aloft. It was a CD. "I was given this sample by Monitor. It is you singing, yes?" On the cover was a shot of Lydia singing onstage at The Head Case.

Lydia turned and glared at Beetlejuice. "Oh, I see. Yes, ma'am."  
>So much for him catching tips in a hat, he'd been selling merchandise that night, hence all the money he'd managed to collect. He must have 'juiced up some goodies, CDs included, and Monitor must have bought one.<br>"Eheheheheh…." Beetlejuice tried to laugh off, raising his hands defensively.

Violet pocketed the CD once more. "It is a raw talent. Very raw. Needs a lot of polishing and fine tuning, but… it is a start." She interlocked her fingers and rested her chin on her hands, sitting importantly. "We have a lot of superstars on this side, Miss Deetz. It gets a little boring without fresh talent. You are the freshest we could possibly hope to net; I hear you are still human,"  
>Lydia glanced down into her lap, humbled. "I'm not dead, ma'am, no."<p>

"Then _that _is your image. Your tagline. You are a fish out of water; a living soul in this land of the dead. You are young, you are beautiful. It does not matter if your voice is only so-so. There is a formula to a pop star, Lydia, and you are a potent formula. With the right help, you could be huge,"  
>Lydia's face had flushed red. She felt incredibly flattered and overwhelmed to say the least. "I… I don't know what to say,"<br>Monitor and Beetlejuice cried simultaneously: "Say 'yes'!"

Lydia closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to sort through all of her thoughts. She needed time, she wanted to sleep on it at the very least.

She placed both of her hands flat on the surface of the table and said as steadily as possible: "I… I'll have to think about this." She glanced to the side as she thought. "I have a big event coming up…"  
>"Ahuhuh, we'll work around you!" Monitor insisted, almost a little desperately, clapping his big hands together. "Just name a date,"<p>

Lydia hesitated. "Well, I…"

Beetlejuice was looking at her hopefully, a little sincerely. For a minute Lydia even began to believe he wanted her to do this for herself, not for him or the money. In a way too, she _did_ want to do it for him.

_After the fashion contest would be okay… _A little voice in her mind whispered.  
>Another voice worried back: <em>But then when I go back to college– <em>

_No, think short-term, Lydia. These Neitherworld exploits never seem to last more than a few days, and if this is the off chance that it lasts all summer break then so be it._

Pausing for a moment longer, realising that this was probably one of those chances that if never taken you'd always live to regret, she finally gathered the strength to give her answer. She smiled. "… I can start from next week,"

Violet, too, smiled - in the way most people like her did when they felt like they had extended their precious time to the needy and had been worried it would all be naught. Good Decision, that smile said.

"Brill-iant, wonderful… ahahah. Here, here, we'll make it official," Monitor said excitedly, gathering some paperwork from his large desk over by the back wall, which he then proceeded to give to Violet.  
>The female stood, brushing out invisible wrinkles from her crisp, brown suit. "Miss Deetz, follow me, if you please,"<br>"Oh, uh, yeah," Lydia stood hurriedly and began to follow the woman into an anteroom in the corner of the office, leaving Beetlejuice to withdraw his pilfered copy of _Slime _and flick through it in her absence.

Violet shut the door. The click it made was almost deafening, imprisoning, like they'd stepped into another world all together. She motioned that Lydia should take the one seat that was pulled up to a small round table, on top of which the producer then placed the important looking handful of documents. She pulled out a ball pen and handed it to her.  
>"Please sign this contract, Miss Deetz. Then we will be on our way. Read through it now or at your leisure,"<p>

"Y-Yes, uhm, right away," Lydia suddenly felt nervous, the impact of her decision beginning to register with her. Nevertheless, she picked up the contract pages and began to read. She skim-read the bulk of text written in larger font before focusing on the fine print. She was no fool, she didn't want to sign her life away after all. Once satisfied, she signed on the dotted line.

Violet smiled. "Perfect. Now," She perched on the edge of the table, and Lydia's gaze was forced up from the paperwork. "Tell me, what is the music like these days on the Other Side?"

* * *

><p>The day that a drunken Beetlejuice had engaged in conversation with the conveniently placed Dawn, Monitor had been distracted. And what had distracted him?<p>

He'd had everything all planned out.

He had been there at the SOMFN evening. He had been lurking, asking the organisers when and where Lydia would be performing. It was only when he had been aimlessly wandering that he'd overheard an interesting conversation between a young man and an older couple by the food tent. Monitor had been gravitating over to the buffet line before he'd decided to eavesdrop on them.

The man who he heard speak first was in his late twenties and had been confiding something to his relatives. Monitor had recognised the man, but he hadn't been able to put a name to his face at the time. In hindsight he realised the man had once been wanted by the mayor for environmental vandalism before being elected as spokesperson for the Green is Keen council. Donny Juice. Beetlejuice's brother.

"_Now, you know I don't like to gossip, and I assure you I mean nothing _hurtful_ by this, but… I was just wonderin'… what's your opinion of Beetlejuice's relationship with Lydia?"_

Monitor, intrigued, had stepped as close as he could without drawing attention. He then – literally – tuned into the conversation.

The large woman opposite the young man had scoffed: "He's obsessed with the girl, quite clearly,"

Donny had stalled for a moment before continuing. "I don't want to suggest anything that might be false, but I think… heck, I _know_ even if they don't, that their 'friendship' is dec_iii_dedly more than that these days,"

"What do you mean?" An irritable, stern-looking man had demanded.  
>"Now, uncle, I don't want to gossip…"<br>"It's on your mind, and you want to talk it off, so spit it out, boy,"

Donny had looked quite uncomfortable. When he had next spoke, he had done so quietly. "I can't be sure I saw what I thought I saw, but… " Whispering. Monitor hadn't been able to make it out.  
>The woman had then gasped, absolutely appalled. "You mean–?"<br>"–together?"  
>"–having <em>relations<em>?"

The upper two of Monitor's facial screens had both proceeded to display bold, red 'X's, while the bottom two flashed between images of both his own expression of horror and the word 'EW'.

The situation was far, far worse than Monitor had thought.

He had wanted to separate Beetlejuice and Lydia that night simply because he couldn't stand working with the man. As far as Monitor knew, the two had always been just friends. Honey-trap Dawn had been planted under the pretext of distracting Beetlejuice, while Monitor was supposed to distract Lydia and propose his deal to her in the meantime.

But… if Beetlejuice and Lydia were 'together' in _any _sense of the term, Monitor had to stop that dead.

He'd headed to the pavilion, and watched Lydia perform. He'd then stood, and waited, and watched the scene between Dawn, Beetlejuice and Lydia commence. If he hadn't been convinced of the two's assumed relationship by Donny's conversation with his aunt and uncle, he was convinced now. Lydia had flown off in a jealous dejection, not walked off sullenly because her best friend's attention had been drawn. She hadn't been supposed to get _jealous. _

Monitor had come to the conclusion then that direct involvement would be suspicious, and so had stood back and let her run right out of his grasp. The evening, however, hadn't all been for naught for he'd realised something: if Lydia was to become a star, then she and Beetlejuice had a bond that he had to sever.  
>After all, the Neitherworld's next biggest icon couldn't be seen with the Neitherworld's most hated.<p>

Knowing the two of them, and knowing their history, however, Monitor (rightfully) presumed it would take more than just one interference to seperate them.  
>No, it would need clever manipulating; he would need to sow the seeds.<p>

Now, in his office, watching as Beetlejuice tried very hard to ignore him by reading his magazine, Monitor spoke up. "Well, Beetlejuice, congratulations."  
>The pinstriped ghost glanced up and quirked an eyebrow at the ambiguous statement.<p>

Monitor smiled, and gestured behind him with a cocked thumb to the closed anteroom door. "You've finally come up with a viable source of income."  
>Beetlejuice didn't know whether to feel complimented or offended. He decided to feel complimented. "Aw, thanks,"<p>

Monitor dug into his suit jacket and pulled out a wad of papers thicker than the contract he'd handed Violet only moments before. He then retrieved a pen and twiddled it nervously. "Now if you can just sign this contract on Lydia's behalf then _e_-verything will be in order,"

Beetlejuice put down the magazine. What was Lydia doing in that room if not signing papers? Did this mean Monitor was actually _accepting _him as Lydia's manager, without a fight?  
>After all the years of Monitor trying to feed him to sandworms, gangsters and old-fashioned cartoon villains in the name of entertainment, Beetlejuice had developed a distrust of the TV mogul just as Lydia had. This, in turn, made him eye the paperwork suspiciously, while he turned over the idea of 'juicing up a lighter and setting it all ablaze.<p>

Eighty-percent of the text was so small it was illegible.  
>"That's, a, uh, lot of fine print there, Monitor."<p>

In all honesty, Monitor hadn't expected him to notice. Sometimes he wondered just how stupid the ghost was, or how much of it was all an act. Still, he had prepared for this. He made his way over to his desk, and pulled something out from one of the drawers.  
>"And there are a <em>lot<em> of beetles in this jar I'm offering you now, Mr B. J., sir,"

As he placed the glass jar on the table-top, Beetlejuice's eyes popped out on stalks. The container was filled to the brim with fat, crunchy bugs that were dusted with a tasty-looking, coffee-coloured powder. The instant craving made his mouth water and his tongue loll out helplessly, drooling a puddle on the floor. "Beetles?"

Hook, line and sinker.

Monitor began to walk the jar over to him, treading in a dramatically slow manner. He smirked. "Indeed. Caught fresh this morning, ahuhh. Dipped in cinnamon _annnnd_ top soil,"

A small growl rumbled from Beetlejuice's stomach. _"Let-me-at-'em! Let-me-at-'em!"_ It begged inside his magenta shirt.

It wasn't right to say he 'gave up' as though to imply he'd been struggling to answer; Monitor had had him at 'beetles'.  
>He reached out for the jar, licking his lips as he grabbed it eagerly with both hands. Clutching it to his chest with one hand, on an afterthought he also reached for the pen.<p>

"Where do I sign?" He said, hungrily.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

It was somewhere between four and five o'clock in the afternoon this Peaceful Pines summer day, and the fashion show should have been bathed in warm, brilliant sunshine. In truth, it had been for the first three acts, but storm clouds had appeared almost out of thin air and had gradually begun to smother all light. The organisers expected rain, had become concerned, had anticipated calling off the show. The rain didn't come. For the crowd it was as though they were experiencing a total eclipse; it was unknown to them that the darkness befell only this small area of town.

It was pitch black when Lydia Deetz's entry was announced, and, boy, did it attribute to the atmosphere. And, what was more, as the entire audience was lost in this blackness the stage lighting had been turned up high, whitewashing the platform with light.  
>The spotlights now trained on a single point of the stage, waiting silent and steady for their star. The music began, and the chosen song started with a sound effect: the cliché but powerful sound of bellowing wind; currently tuneless but attention grabbing to say the least.<p>

Fog – _real_ fog – coursed its way across the platform floor as though seeping from the stage itself, so thick that the models in the wings could no longer see their feet. A member of the audience shrieked as they caught sight of what they thought was a bat swooping from the stage wings and boomeranging over the crowd.

Lydia, hidden in the shadows at the back of the stage and waiting for her cue, smiled. Her nerves, which had been piqued only moments before, now settled. She couldn't _see _anything but the whiteness. She felt comfortably independent up here, like she was the only person in the world.

The attendees were reduced to captivated silence as an unnaturally deep, pre-recorded voice warned: "_Beware of the full moon. Stick to the path. Out come the creatures. A spine-chilling laugh–"  
><em>The laugh that _should_ have played on the track didn't come. Instead, suddenly and inexplicably, a maniacal, high one ricocheted through the air. "Eah-ha-ha-ha-ha-haaah! AH-ha-ha-ha-ha- hah-ha-haaaa!" The sound boomed around the competition area, but didn't seem to come from any one source. It certainly didn't sound as though it had come from the speakers. This laugh, so familiar to her, caused Lydia to smirk. Meanwhile, the fine hairs on the backs of the audience's necks stood on end.

On cue, and accompanied by the sound of a creaking door slowly swinging shut, Lydia spoke into her ear-piece microphone in a voice that was both ominous and, without realising it, semi-erotic. "It's Showtime,"

The first bars of the song began.

Lydia began to walk out of the shadows at the back of the stage, slowly, theatrically, her head lowered. As far as could be told from the audience's first glimpse of her, she was wearing high-heeled black boots over what appeared to be a long skirt tucked into them. It soon became obvious, however, that what she was actually wearing was a pair of black-and-white vertically striped harem pants that had been slashed to show some skin – a knee here, a thigh there.

She seemed to bow out of the darkness, and the next piece of apparel that could be seen was the black crown-shaped top hat that sat on an angle on her head, knifing out of long, dark, loosely-curled hair.  
>As Lydia straightened, the audience could see her tight, leather black waistcoat, slashed low, worn over a white blouse that could only be described as being pirate-like, with sleeves cut off at the elbows. Worn tight around her neck was a black-and-white striped cameo on a ribbon.<p>

Keeping her head down, Lydia Deetz raised a gnarled black cane.  
>There was a blinding flash of white light, and the audience gasped, shrieked and screamed as lightning struck the cane. It passed through Lydia harmlessly, the electricity fizzling and thrumming through the ground. Then she raised her head, black rings painted around her deep brown eyes. The backing track reached a crescendo as Lydia grinned and began to sing, walking to the edge of the stage.<p>

"_There's a chill in the air….  
><em>_Y'hear a creak on the stair…  
><em>_You've gotta lock all your doors…  
><em>_Is there anybody out…?"_

The models walked on, head to toe in gothica visions that were both high street and high fashion, all a step-up from their Spooky Boo-tique incarnations.  
>Lydia flung out her arms as she gestured to the models.<p>

"_They're out to get you–  
><em>_To capture you and make you  
><em>_Spe-ellbou-und…"_

The crowd, awestruck, watched as the models clawed their hands and stood in an arrow formation around their ringleader.

"_Howling and prowling,  
><em>_You're shivering, quivering.  
><em>_Spe-ellbouuuund…!"_

Two of the models at the front of the formation tore off their ball-gown-esque skirts to reveal, on one, a mini skirt, and hot pants on the other. Lydia stepped backwards down the centre of the formation slightly before the models began to walk single file towards the edge of the stage and finally onto the catwalk.

"_You cannot run  
><em>_And you cannot hide,  
><em>_Yeah, you gotta face it, baby, things go bump in the ni-ight..."_

The seven girls all had time to do a circuit around the catwalk before huddling around Lydia once again. At the word 'bump' Lydia had stomped her cane.

"_Wherever you run, and –  
><em>_Wherever you hide  
><em>_Yeah, you gotta face it, baby  
><em>_Things go bump-" _Stomp. The models slammed their heeled feet to the ground._ "-bump-"_ Stomp. "–_bump in the ni-ight-!"_

Strobe lighting flashed, thunder clapped to close the medley and the lights shut off.

After a moment of stunned silence, riotous applause tore through the crowd.

Clare Brewster, who had been watching only with the intention of scoping out her rival and plotting ways in which to sabotage her, found her mouth falling open in shock and awe (which, in turn, prompted malignant disgust.)

The backing track's volume decreased but continued to linger in the background.  
>The lights were raised to show Lydia humbly stood, centre-stage, with a radiant flush gracing her cheeks. "Ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to present to you the <em>Showtime!<em> Collection!" She cried with gusto. Even though she was being herself, taking control not acting, there were no nerves; she was riding on a rush of adrenaline and the words flowed from her with such passion and confidence that the whole audience cheered.

Somewhere Lydia heard - "Way to go, babes!" – and her grin widened even more.

She stepped all the way to the end of the catwalk, a ringmaster directing her circus, and spun her cane. "I'm your Host with the Most, Lydia Deetz!" She cried. 'Host with the Most' had been Beetlejuice's idea. Lydia liked the way it sounded, how it rolled off of her tongue. In its own way, it held a kind of power, which in turn empowered her on stage. Catchphrase in a Can: put the 'con' in your _con_fidence. Patent Pending.

Delia, seated in the crowd, leant over to her husband. "Charles, I had no idea Lydia was so– dramatic." She placed a hand over her heart. "I'm so proud,"

Lydia tipped her head in gratitude, eyes sweeping over a crowd she couldn't even see. "Let's let the clothes do all the talking, shall we…?"

A model, the one who had torn off her skirt into a mini-skirt, stepped forward, expression neutral. Lydia stepped over to her, pointing with her cane. "Amber, here, is wearing the Black Widow,"

Amber posed at various three-sixty-degree angles. She'd been wearing a black gown originally with a skirt that had swept the floor, but now it was mini with waterfall layers and a dark lace trim. The dress was held up by thin straps, the bodice decorated by two white studs in the centre. Above her knees were black elastic 'x's that crossed tightly over her skin, matching with the black 'x' that had been painted over her lips.  
>On one hand, something that looked like a black leather falconer's glove, buckled at the wrist.; on her feet, black platform Mary Janes.<br>Her hair had been plaited into a French braid, and when she turned, a large satin bow was shown to be sitting in the centre of the plait.

A model on Lydia's left stepped forward on cue and began to display her outfit. Lydia introduced her too, Jenna and the Evanescent ensemble. She was wearing a white knee-length skirt with a translucent grey layer over the top that had a lopsided triangle (almost wave-shaped) slashed out of it. On her top half she wore a baggy white tunic, panels of which were translucent too. It looked like a one piece, not two. Her lipstick was pale, her blonde boy-cut hair spiked into wild angles. Something about the outfit said 'virgin sacrifice', the clothes were light, and billowed out.

One by one, the models stepped out into the spotlight as Lydia spoke for each outfit. One girl displayed the outfit Lydia had worn to Monitor's office, another wore a red tartan, ragged skirt with a cobweb pattern fashioned after her beloved poncho. Another model wore a crewneck, sleeveless plum-coloured dress with a striped skirt and a black bustle made up of various appendages that looked to be outwardly curling octopus tentacles.

'Sarah' wore a batwing poncho with a turtleneck that had a scarf sewn in, the rounded, large collar dotted with crosses. The poncho was so long and enough of a statement that she wore just crimson leggings beneath it, as well as black visor-sunglasses.

Another girl wore a burlesque corset dress; the colour on the left side was a dark, bloody garnet that gradually faded into a candy-cane red on the right side. In the centre of the bust was an off-white rose, the corset trimmed with similar off-white stitching. Over the top, a red, hooded capelet that was _very_ 'Little Miss Riding Hood'.

Yet another girl mainly modelled accessories rather than clothes; she wore a nude leotard so as to detract attention from her. Around her neck was an oversized scarflette wrap with various layers; on her legs were thick black-and-white stripe gathered legwarmers, and around her wrists were black corsage cuffs with white lace ruffs.  
>Half of the models were dressed in complete monochrome, the other half wore splashes of colour – mainly purple, lime green and crimson.<p>

Finally Lydia did her own walk to the front of the stage and displayed her own outfit. She swung her cane, performing the last bow of the evening.  
>"Things go bump in the night, Peaceful Pines. You just have to remember to bump back," The spotlights shut off just as Lydia tipped her head forwards in what was half a salute and half a bow.<p>

The crowd erupted.  
>The judges feverishly began scribbling notes on the sheets in front of them.<br>When the lights came back on they illuminated the entire stage, and, bizarrely enough, the darkness, too, seemed to lift, the sun bursting back through the black clouds. The models had exited and Lydia was stood alone, smiling with dazed pride. The judges gave her a standing ovation before seating one by one.

The first judge fiddled with her oval-rimmed glasses and cleared her throat, tapping a pen against her notes in front of her. "Miss Deetz, would you please tell us the inspiration for your fashion range?"

Lydia felt unease writhe within her as the crowd was abracadabra'd back into existence She tried to keep her nerves in check. "I've been inspired by figures that I've grown up with since a child, from classic horror movie actors to famous writers, Boris To-Death, Bela Lugosi, Edgar Allan Poe, Mary Shelley. Japanese street-fashion, particularly the Gothic Lolita trend has influenced me to create more Victorian designs, and gothic fashion has been trending on the catwalk with Alexander McQueen and Thierry Mugler lately."

The judges' expressions were neutral.  
>Lydia inwardly cursed. Of <em>course<em> they knew what was trending on the catwalks.

She took a deep, calming breath and started again. "I _love_ the dark and the supernatural. I love all that people would be quick to point out and deem frightening. I think-" She smirked. "No, I _know _that mankind don't know all that we like to think we do, and I want to keep it that way. The day we know everything, nothing will be the same, and nothing will be _fun _anymore." She smiled as her confidence began to return, voice becoming steadier. "I can see the main objection to my fashion being because it's dark. As a rule man is afraid of the dark, or rather, the unknown that's… waiting in the dark. But if we looked, we'd see that nothing changes when the lights go out. I think night time is beautiful, and I think the dark is beautiful. Black goes with everything, and so does white, you can't say the same for other colours, so what's wrong with being monochrome?"

The second judge piped up, a beautiful auburn-haired woman who looked positively enthralled. "Was that your inspiration for the stripes?" She asked.

Lydia looked down at herself. Her cheeks reddened. "Ah… the stripes. Actually they're– well, they're kind of statement that someone– very dear to me makes. They suit him, they _are _him in a way, and I guess… I guess I couldn't have this range without something being inspired by him."

Somewhere in the crowd, a breathless soul held his breath.

Another judge, this one male, spoke next. "Do you think your fashions are wearable day to day?"  
>Lydia nodded eagerly. "Oh, definitely. They're niche, I know that, but as individual pieces they're bold and stand out. You don't have to be goth or punk to wear these pants–" She gestured down at herself. "– because you don't have to wear the ensembles as a whole." Thinking on her feet, having not been able to script these parts, she gripped the top of her cane tightly. "To wear my clothes you don't have to be morbid, you don't have to write poetry and you don't even have to- to…" She waited for the right phrase to come, then smiled as it clicked into place. "–believe in ghosts."<p>

The judges all nodded, apparently satisfied. The stern-looking bespectacled brunette leant forwards and spoke into her desk-mounted microphone. "Thank you, Lydia."

"Thank you," Lydia replied, more meekly than she meant to. With that she bowed, and walked off to thunderous applause while the models all walked back on, each doing a turn on the catwalk before forming a horizontal line and posing.

The lights shut off once more, and Lydia's segment of the show ended with them.

* * *

><p><strong>AN  
><strong>The song Lydia sings is called 'Things Go Bump in the Night' by allSTARS.  
>I didn't mean for it to be, but the phrase she uses more or less in reference to this<br>song and to close her intro is similar to a line in the _Hellboy _movie.  
>Chapter ten shall be along soon!<p> 


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Lydia had preferred having been 'up' before Clare in the competition because it had taken some of the pressure off – she'd been able to focus on her performance without worrying how she and Clare compared until afterwards.  
>Now, backstage, pacing to and fro as the realisation of what she'd just accomplished rocked through her, she began nervously rubbing her hands together.<p>

She found herself lingering outside of the stage door. As the stage had been a special construction for the contest, this door separated the backstage area from a flight of steps that led down to a modular-build dressing room. At that moment, the models were brushing past her, all enthusiastically talking whilst they headed to the dressing room to quickly change into the next entrant's fashions. Towards the back of the line one of them, Sarah, reached out and grabbed an unsteady Lydia by the arm, smiling infectiously.  
>"Lydia!"<p>

She turned at both the sound of her name and the tug on her arm only to be faced with four beaming faces.

"I just wanted to say for all of us that we really enjoyed that!"

Relieved and grateful, Lydia began to subconsciously fiddle with the cameo of her pendant. "I'm really glad, you girls looked amazing,"

Some of the girls ahead of Sarah who had lingered now dashed off, obviously becoming aware of the time.  
>Sarah stepped further into the open stage door, nodding in enthusiasm. "Yeah. I'm so glad that that spoilt Brewster girl didn't manage to get us replaced; I really want this poncho now!"<p>

Lydia's concentration had faltered mid-sentence. Her brow furrowed; she should have known.  
><em>Sneaky, Clare. Very sneaky. <em>She thought bitterly.

"Anyway, we'd better split." Sarah said and ushered some of the remaining models after her. "Nice talking to you!"  
>"Yes, you too!" Lydia called as the door swung shut.<p>

A stagehand began to gesture for her to step down another flight of steps towards the exit. Lydia complied. She folded her arms but was nevertheless smiling.  
>Clare was up next, and with a group of models that would not be as co-operative as she was used to. In short, things could not be better.<p>

* * *

><p>Clare was worried<em>.<em>

Angrily marching backstage towards the wings and, therefore, somewhat in Lydia's direction, she wanted to scream.  
>The Deetz girl had <em>beaten <em>her– beaten her at her own game! She was stunned, appalled, infuriated. Not that the show was over, not by a long shot, but she hadn't even been able to interfere to make doubly sure that Lydia would lose. Without that security, Clare felt at a loss. The crowd should have come to see her, not the goth girl.

She quick-dialled her father on her cell phone and jumped down his throat the minute he answered. "Daddy! **Why **didn't you get my models elected?"  
>Lydia, coming from the opposite direction, saw bunny-boiler Clare up ahead and smiled despite herself.<br>"_No! _This is – like – the worst night of my life! Ev-er! If I lose this competition then I'm blaming _you_, Daddy!" Clare fumed, going so far as to pull the phone away from her ear to yell into it. "I don't need models! I can, like, wear the clothes myself if I have to!" With that, she hung up, just as she caught sight of the fast-approaching Lydia. She regarded her as if she were tacky gum on the heel of her shoe. "UGH! What are _you _looking at?" She demanded.

Lydia smiled, mock-pleasantly. "Oh, nothing. Good luck out there, Clare." She gestured behind her, towards the stage. "The sun's come out for you,"

"Oh, bite me!" Clare screamed, and stormed off.

The intense satisfaction that Lydia felt then was undermined by a wave of guilt. It was a bad thing to feel relief and triumph at the detriment of others, be it Clare Brewster's misfortune or not.

Out of nowhere, Beetlejuice appeared beside her, rolling up his sleeves and narrowing his eyes. "Why I oughta…"  
>Placing a restraining hand on his arm, Lydia shook her head. "Let her go, Beej. She didn't try to hijack my entry, at least,"<br>"Hm. That shows how much you know, babes." The ghost sniffed. "I had to chase her away from the stage," With that, he 'juiced himself into the black uniform of the competition stagehands and help up a hand, palm out. "'Er, excuse me, no entry during performances,'" He said in a nasally voice that made Lydia giggle.

Brushing some dark strands of hair back behind her ear, Lydia tipped her head on the side. "Well, thanks for keeping an eye out,"

Beetlejuice's clothes reverted to normal, and with that one of his eyeballs popped out into his waiting palm, rolling there for a moment. He grinned. "Any time, babes,"

The eye in his palm, about eye-level with Lydia's collarbone, turned its gaze on her, pupil dilating as it took in the close-up sight of the harem pants adorning her bottom half. Even though harem pants, by nature, were baggy, they clung to her hips like a second skin. It was becoming difficult for him to snap his gaze away.  
>Beetlejuice finally, forcibly, returned his eye to its socket before composing himself.<br>Before he could say anything, Lydia spoke instead. "So… what did you think?" She asked expectantly, nodding towards the stage.

"Wuh?"  
>"About my entry?"<br>"Oh," He hadn't thought it even needed to be said. Beetlejuice smiled widely and gave her a double thumbs-up. "You stole the show, Lyds,"  
>She exhaled, content with his response. "I couldn't have done it without you," She said with feeling.<p>

Beetlejuice gripped onto the lapels of his suit and gave them a slight tug, as he did whenever his ego had been stroked. "Well, your favourite Ghost with the Most is always here to help, babes." He grinned. And, just like that, and without any good reason, his eyes were drawn to the waistband of her pants again.  
>Since when had her body gotten so—curvaceous? The good kind, the 'voluptuous' kind.<br>And pinstripes… they _suited_ her. _His _stripes. Suddenly he wanted to see her in them more.  
>Clothes or fashion had no meaning to Beetlejuice, hence why he always wore the same outfit. The only thing he cared about was 'normal' versus 'abnormal'. 'Normal' was boring pinstripes; 'abnormal' was flipping that on the head with zany monochrome stripes on an outfit that was halfway between a zoot suit and a convict's uniform. Lydia's gothic and dark fashion sense was 'abnormal'. He liked that. Even better, he liked seeing his fashion sense on her; he liked seeing he could be a part of her. It was the same feeling he got whenever he saw her wearing the pendant he'd bought her for their last anniversary and… oh, wait, she was wearing that too.<p>

Before he could help himself, his mouth opened. "You look good in stripes, Lyds,"

Lydia paused, a flush creeping up her cheeks that settled into a firm blush. She tried to laugh the compliment off but was still notably grateful when she replied. "Thanks, B. J.. I like to think so too,"

A stagehand chose that moment to appear. Beetlejuice masked a yelp of surprise and shrunk himself down to the size of a thumb before he could be spotted, perching on Lydia's shoulder.  
>Lydia acknowledged the stagehand coolly and began to quickly make her way out of the backstage area. Once outside and on the lawn at the back of the construction, she glanced at Beetlejuice out of the corner of her eye.<br>"We'd better watch out front." She whispered once far enough away from any staff volunteers. At the sight of the clear look of mischief on his face however, she didn't need to read his mind to know his intentions. She narrowed her eyes and pointed at him in warning. "_No _beetlejuicing Clare, B. J.. I want us to be equals… more or less. She didn't get a chance to meddle, so I don't want to do the same,"

The tiny Beetlejuice folded his arms and frowned. "Spoil my fun," He grumbled.

* * *

><p>Clare was onstage behind a large podium, spotlighted with the full spectrum. She tapped the microphone mounted onto the stand obnoxiously before she spoke in her high-pitched, Valley-girl accent. "So, like, hey everyone. Up now is what you've <em>all <em>been waiting for, so enjoy _my _clothes,"

Now stood towards the back of the seating area, Lydia held her breath as the models began to walk on. She soon found herself stifling a laugh at the sight of them.

All the models looked identical. Clare had forced them to wear blonde doppelganger wigs to match her own fluffy hair and their faces were plastered with the exact same levels of makeup and 'you've-been-tangoed' bronzer. Though they all looked moderately different, even the clothes themselves were eerily similar, and certainly not unique. The outfits consisted of baby pinks, baby blues and pastels; all were preppy, dull, and showing a bit too much skin.

The models proceeded to act out real life situations in 'skits' that were not at all funny or impressive – though whether or not they were meant to be was another story entirely. After each skit the attention would swing back to Clare, and she would describe where she would wear that outfit. One was a 'golfing with daddy' outfit, the other for a 'hot date'.

Clare's segment of the competition was both painful yet satisfying to watch.  
>The judges all looked grave by the end of it.<p>

After Clare's entry two more girls submitted their designs, before finally the show began to wind down to an end. An interval was announced for the judges to make their decision, and the audience was temporarily released from their seats.

Lydia felt a weight lift from her. It was over. There was no more she could do, except hope for the best.

"You were right, Lyds," Beetlejuice said finally from his perch on her shoulder, half-hidden behind a curtain of raven hair. "We didn't have to mess with Clare – she did a bad enough job on her own!"  
>"See, Beej? And if we'd have interfered what would that have made us?"<br>"Prankster King and Queen?" He answered, reclining where he sat.

Lydia exhaled through her nose heavily and rolled her eyes. "No. It would have made us _sink to her level_,"  
>"Pffft," When he was sure no one was looking, Beetlejuice 'juiced himself into the relatively new guise of B. J. Beetleman and shoved his hands in his pockets. He glanced at her incredulously. "Lydia, babes, haven't you given up on trying to teach me morals yet?"<br>"Not yet,"  
>He deflated. "Unlucky for me,"<p>

"_Lydia_!" A familiar voice called through the crowd. Lydia jumped and turned. A tall girl with long brown hair was lumbering over to them, grinning to display teeth that had once been goofy but had since been straightened out with braces.  
>Lydia was both surprised and delighted at this girl's sudden appearance. "Bertha!"<br>"... no kiddin'," Beetlejuice mumbled beside her.

"It's been a long time!" Bertha squealed happily. "You were so _cool_ up there,"  
>"Thank you," The old friends entwined in a brief embrace before withdrawing, hands on each other's wrists.<p>

Bertha hadn't changed much. Her voice still cascaded from high to low and back again, her tilted, squinting eyes were still the same, and her straight-laced sense of dress still stamped the word 'geek' all over her, but… something about her was nevertheless different. It took Lydia a moment to put a finger on what, but then it hit her. It wasn't any one thing, but an aura the girl now gave out. Bertha exuded a confidence that had come from years of hanging on to strong-spirited girls, something that said 'I'm happy in my own skin', and made her attractive as a result.

Lydia was surprised and a little disappointed to see Prudence wasn't with her, but then that was silly; Prudence was doing aid work in third world countries and hadn't been back to Peaceful Pines since graduation.

Bertha had been eagerly talking about the show, half of which Lydia had missed. She tuned back into the conversation, smiling as Bertha said: "The clothes were great! Reminds me of when we set up the Boo-tique. Whatever happened to–?" The tall girl stopped mid-reflection, having caught sight of the boy, or, well, man stood beside Lydia, who'd just now cleared his throat irritably.

Bertha blinked and paused. In turn, Lydia noticed where her gaze had been drawn to and also glanced up at a pouting Beetlejuice.  
>Lydia rolled her eyes. In some ways he was like a <em>Tamagotchi<em>; if you didn't give him attention for so long, he alerted you in case he wasted away.  
>She stumbled over her words as she introduced him. "Oh, Bertha, this is, uh, this is—my—" Despite herself, she relished the word as she said it. "–boyfriend. B. J.. Uh… B. J. Beetleman,"<p>

"Beetle…man?" Bertha repeated.  
>Hadn't Mr Beetleman been the man who'd helped them set up the Spooky Boo-tique? Was this a relative of his, like Betty was?<p>

Beetlejuice waved with his fingers stiffly and smiled in the same way he had when 'introduced' to the Deetzs. "Ohh, pleased to meet ya, Bu–"  
>Lydia slammed her foot down on his before he could finish the word 'Burp'. Beetlejuice masked the pain easily, giving it only a twitch of the eyelid. "—<em>ee<em>—Bertha,"

Bertha's mouth formed a small, stunned 'o' shape. "I didn't know you had a boyfriend, Lydia,"  
>The disguised ghost wrapped an arm around Lydia's shoulders and smiled in a smug, conceited manner. She, too, smiled, albeit weakly.<br>"Things– change. Ahahaha," Lydia laughed off.

Bertha regarded them closely for a moment. Her nose wrinkled as she strained to think of what she'd been talking about only a moment before, but the topic had obviously been exhausted. In an effort to maintain a conversation, she gestured to them both. "You, uh, make a cute couple,"  
>Beetlejuice and Lydia both felt their cheeks turn pink, although he was the first to play it off with an absent wave of his free hand. "Naww, you're just saying that to be nice,"<p>

"Are you related to Betty?"  
>Beetlejuice thought about that. "She's my, uh… my-"<br>"Cousin," Lydia said for him quickly, though still tried to sound as though she were naturally and helpfully finishing his sentence. The two then looked at each other and both began to let out false, cheesy laughter. Overdone couples laughter, the type that meant 'oh you' without words, the type that implied they finished each others' sentences all the time.

Just then, there was a mumbling coming from the direction of the stage. All three turned.  
>The audience who had been stood mingling only moments before were now returning to their seats, en-masse. Lydia cursed. "Damn, I didn't even get to speak to my parents," She breathed, glancing around to try and catch sight of them. She finally spotted them in the right-hand seating area near the front row, waving to her frantically.<p>

Bertha, too, was looking around, trying to find whomever she'd attended with. "Shoot, I'd better go too."  
>She turned, giving Lydia a parting smile. "I really hope you win, Lydia! You deserve to!"<p>

Lydia felt impelled to give the tall girl another hug. "Thank you, Bertha. It was nice to see you again. Don't be a stranger, okay?"  
>"O-kaay. Byee!" Bertha waved before disappearing as she meandered back through the thickening crowd.<p>

Without words at first, Lydia and Beetlejuice began to make their way over to Charles and Delia at the front. Weaving in and out of people, they finally got through the thick of the audience and had a clear run to the front-row seating.

Lydia eventually glanced up at Beetlejuice, replaying over and over what Bertha had said to them, even though she knew she had just said it to make conversation. She decided to pluck up the nerve to repeat it, and prodded her best friend teasingly. "We… make a cute couple, hey?"  
>Beetlejuice's eye twitched. He'd had enough of the words 'cute' and 'nice' that evening. "Don't say that word, babes," He moaned, before a person shambling towards their seat stepped onto his foot. Normally, it wouldn't have hurt, but that same foot was already tender from the stomping Lydia had only just given it.<br>"Y'owww! Watch it, pal!" Beetlejuice barked at the skittish man, before rounding on Lydia. "And– Oh, yeahhh." He said as it occurred to him. He held up his foot petulantly. "_This_ is for stomping – beetles, that is – but not for stomping _on_. Was that really necessary?"

Lydia's response was deadpan. "Yes," She said unsympathetically, her lips curving into a smile.  
>Beetlejuice blinked at her response, but wasn't completely surprised. After all, Lydia was becoming more like him every day, and obnoxious she could be.<br>He shrugged his shoulders, irritation dissipating as easy that. "Hmph. Tough love," He said.

As soon as the L word rolled off his tongue, Beetlejuice twitched, though partly because the word didn't flow from him naturally. Yes, the word was 'in his dictionary', so to speak, but it was in a small font and the meaning of it was: '_Some kind of 'feeling' that really messes you up; see related: Neither-Neitherland, overbearing mothers, cuteness_'.  
>For Lydia, his use of the L word was enough to make her notice a bit more than she had done up to this point; for starters: he still had his arm around her.<br>It must have had the same effect on him, because Beetlejuice noticed it then too. He practically jumped as he withdrew his arm. Laughing nervously, he used the same hand that had cupped her shoulder to scratch the back of his neck idly. "Eheh, we'd, uh… better sit down…"

Lydia's shoulder suddenly felt very bare.

Surely when they'd been fighting through the crowd they had gotten separated as they'd sidestepped people? He _must_ have removed his arm from around her then, right? So how did she not notice when he'd slung it back over her? And how could he not notice that he'd _done _it?  
>They were slotting together so naturally that it made Lydia's heart thump.<p>

"Uh, yeah…" She finally answered, and the two hurried over to where her parents were sat.

"Pumpkin!" Charles cried as soon as they were near enough, gesturing to an empty seat they'd saved for Lydia. Then he stopped, biting his lip anxiously. "Oh, and, uh, you're here, B. J.."  
>Beetlejuice grinned, hands in his black trouser pockets. "Wouldn't want to miss this, Mr D,"<br>Charles glanced around. "Err, we didn't know you were coming, else we'd have saved you a seat…"

"Aw, that's okay," Behind his back, Beetlejuice zapped a tarantula into being that fell from the air onto the occupied seat next to the one that had been saved for Lydia. The chair's occupant, finding the eight-legged creature sat squarely on their head, screamed and ran towards the parking lot, brushing herself down madly as she went.  
>Beetlejuice's instinct was to chuckle gleefully, but under the scrutiny of the Deetzs the sound wouldn't come.<p>

Charles and Delia looked around curiously at the woman who'd high-tailed it to the exit and the empty seat she'd left.  
>The tarantula disappeared with an almost inaudible poof, and Beetlejuice tried hard to copy the expressions of Lydia's parents.<p>

"I wonder what her problem was?" Delia mused, cupping her chin in thought.  
>"Gosh, I don't know," Beetlejuice edged towards the free chair. "But that was some stroke of luck,"<br>"Wasn't it?"

Lydia went to take her seat too but she didn't get far enough. Delia placed her hands on her stepdaughter's shoulders and squealed happily. "Ohh, Lydia, you were _spectacular_,"  
>"Thanks, Mom,"<br>"Uh-Delia, honey, they're starting," Her father interrupted in a quiet voice.  
>"Oh, hush, Charles," Delia rolled her eyes but did as she was silently bade and sat back down, as did Lydia.<p>

Within but a few minutes the judges were stood in the centre of the stage, just as the sun began to set behind the large construct.  
>An elected individual of the committee – the same auburn-haired lady who'd been so enthusiastic when questioning Lydia – held up before her an unnecessary, melodramatic golden envelope and began to eye the audience in an almost jubilant manner.<p>

Lydia bit her lip. They'd come to their decision pretty quickly.

"Thank you for your patience, ladies and gentlemen. And now- time to reveal our winner," The judge began, fingers teasing at the envelope flap.  
>"Tonight we've been treated to many wonderful designs, clothes and inspiring young people. All of you that have graced the stage tonight should be proud of what you have accomplished. However–" She paused. "–one person stood out amongst the rest. Though the clothes are, to a degree, controversial we stand united in our decision,"<p>

Lydia's breath hitched.  
>She clutched hold of Beetlejuice's hand, barely noticing how cold his dead skin was to the touch.<p>

"And the winner is…"

He squeezed her hand back, and gave her a supportive wink.

The woman at the forefront of the stage was carefully opening the envelope, and finally withdrew a piece of thick white card with the blank side facing the crowd.

Lydia's heart began to hammer and her stomach flipped queasily in her abdomen.  
>The card was turned.<br>Text was on it, but the words were illegible to her until the same name was repeated out loud.

The judge grinned. "… Lydia Deetz!"

The crowd – all clichés aside – went wild. Delia turned to Lydia and shrieked with pride, throwing her arms around her just as 'B. J.' punched the air in triumph.

"Congratulations, Lydia," The acting-announcer spoke into her microphone.

Lydia, overwhelmed, found herself crippled with shock and modesty. Tears welled up in her eyes as she trembled from head to toe and relaxed back into her seat.  
>She'd done it. She'd <em>actually <em>done it.  
>"I knew you could do it, pumpkin," Charles encouraged, reaching across from his position beside Delia to pat her hand lovingly.<p>

Somewhere behind Lydia a blood curdling, high-pitched scream of disgust and envy could be heard.  
>The judge carried on, unhindered. "Your designs were inspiring and unique. Not only did they certainly have the wow-factor, but they were comfortable and durable and the models didn't want to take them off! Your spectacular performance proved your passion for this field, and you, by all rights, deserve this victory. So, could we please invite our- ahah- 'Host with the Most' back on stage?"<p>

Horror struck her. Lydia didn't think she had the ability to stand, let alone walk to the stage. She tried to sink even lower into her chair, wanting to be invisible, but Beetlejuice placed a helpful, prompting hand on her back. He smiled. "Ya did it, Lyds. Now go shove it in that Clare Brewsters's face,"  
>The thought of that was tempting and certainly helped Lydia straighten up. "Voice of reason as ever. Though I still think I'm gonna faint, Beej,"<br>"Lydia, your crowd is waiting," Delia butted in, applauding along with the rest of the audience.

Lydia swallowed, hands anxiously vibrating at her sides. She looked once more to 'B. J.' for reassurance before edging out of the line of seating towards the aisle, and heading for the stage.

* * *

><p>Embarrassing acceptance speech over with and having been promised to be contacted soon about her prizes, Lydia followed her parents and Beetlejuice to the parking lot.<br>Then, once they'd loaded up the trunk with labelled garments that Lydia had had to practically claw back from the models, they climbed into the Deetz's family car, homebound.

Mid-journey, Charles found himself continuously glancing in the rear-view mirror at the couple in the back seat, his eyes nervously scoping the young man, in particular, out. He didn't know why, but something about B. J. made him edgy, even though the lad seemed pleasant enough.  
>"Did you, uh, enjoy the show, B. J.?" He asked, finally.<p>

The pale-skinned blond nodded his head politely, hands clasped in his lap. "I sure did, Mr Deetz, sir,"  
>Almost as soon as the words left his mouth Beetlejuice grit his teeth.<br>He had to find something to do, and soon; he was pent-up from restraining himself all day.

Delia was still stuck in a bubble of pride and on her high horse. For most of the journey home she'd been discussing with the car's occupants about the show, about how terrific her daughter was, and about how Lydia had 'inherited' her creative genius (though no reference was given to the fact that Lydia couldn't hereditarily 'inherit' _anything_ from Delia.)  
>Eventually her stepmother said: "Lydia, how on earth did you get those—those <em>effects<em>?"

"Oh, you know, Mother. Technology these days can do anything," Lydia dodged the question with a vague reply and a wave of the hand, but it was enough to appease Delia at least.  
>Charles sniffed, shaking his head. "Well, the other entries were missing a trick not using it!"<p>

Beetlejuice smirked at Lydia and cocked his index finger, creating a hand-gun gesture and blowing out the thin trail of invisible residue his 'juice-zapping had left. "Well, you know what they say, Mr Deetz. 'Technology' only works for some people. You either know how to work it or ya don't,"

Delia leant back into her passenger seat with a sigh. "Isn't technology wonderful?" She said dreamily.  
>Lydia rolled her eyes but was grinning all the same. "Yes, yes it is,"<p> 


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

A few days had passed since Lydia's ground-breaking victory at the Peaceful Pines Summer Fashion Contest, and she was practically walking on air in its aftermath. Her photo-shoot and interview for _Lily Mode _magazine had been arranged for next week, and her designs had been submitted to _Top Gossip_'s buyers in order for the clothes to be mass-produced. Soon she would have a temporary but firm foot in the (albeit local) fashion business, and she was overcome with excitement.

She'd taken it upon herself to drive down to the Mondo Mall and check out the local _Top Gossip _store pre-_Showtime!_ collection.  
>Her real-world car was no Doomie, that was for sure. It was a dull yet reliable Ford Focus, third-hand, and though it meant she could at least drive by a dog or two without worrying about the car misbehaving, it lacked a certain warmth. She had no attachment to the vehicle; she had bought it simply because it was the cheapest and suited her needs the best at the time that she'd bought it.<p>

Now, inside the mall and stood facing _Top Gossip_, she peered through the window, wondering just how they'd place her products. Would she get a window display out of it? Would they bring in a fixture to dress it lavishly in the centre of the store? Or would they dedicate a whole wall to her clothes? She could practically picture it all now – the bold advertising, the gothic graphics, the sight of her clothes available in bulk rather than one-of-a-kind-pieces, and the _customers_. She felt a surge of intermingled euphoria and pride at the very thought.

Turning to leave before she daydreamed for much longer, out of the corner of her eye she spotted a relatively new store, one that could only be described as a kind of 'gadgets 'n' gimmicks' shop.  
>Having no immediate plans to exit the Mondo Mall, and, intent on shopping (or browsing, at the very least), she headed for the store – <em>Dawkin's Bizarre Bazaar<em> – impulsively. Once inside, she took her time having a browse through.

The store was filled with weird and wonderful things, unique toys and gifts for both children and adults. Towards the front of the store were the branded and franchise-related gifts, as well as pocket money odds-and-ends for children; whereas to the back were adult gifts and _adult_-adult paraphernalia (these were sectioned off by a partition).

Lydia headed to the back of the store and perused the banners indicating what was shelved on each section of the wall; 'Books', 'For Him', 'For Her', 'Retro'… 'Geek'… 'WTF'…  
>Lydia, not a regular Internet or phone user, was new to this abbreviation. "What the-? … Oh, right." She let out a ripple of laughter at the realisation and began examining the questionable and bizarre stock on this particular shelving unit. She stopped only at the sight of a variety of lollipops propped up in a stand. The lollipops were all transparent except for their centres, and each had a different 'surprise' filling. The one that caught her eye first was the beetle.<p>

"Insectisux Lollipops?" She read off of the shelf-edge ticket. "You've got to be _kidding _me…" She reached out for one, laughing under her breath.  
>Holding it up to the light to examine it, getting a good view of the petrified insect inside, her lips curled into a smile. <em>Beetlejuice would love<em> _these… _

The beetle lollipop had a spearmint-flavoured lolly, and the ant-filled version was peppermint, whilst the remaining two were alcohol-flavoured: scorpion and rum, witchetty grub and vodka. That they were artificially flavoured (aside from their not-so-surprise centres) meant she could at least pick all of them up without being asked for ID. She'd removed one of each from the unit before she'd realised what she was doing, and then picked up a second beetle-pop for good measure, before taking them to the till. Whilst expensive at five dollars each, she rather thought Beetlejuice's reaction in itself would be priceless.

* * *

><p>Shallow bowls of pasta lined the Deetz's dining room table, a rounded number of four rather than the usual three-person setting. Somewhere in the large house a clock chimed on the hour, 6 o'clock, and knifed through the uncomfortable silence that had smothered this particular mealtime. Urged on, as though the clock's chime had set her into motion, Delia picked up the tagliatelle-filled bowl in the centre of the table and a serving spoon before taking it upon herself to re-fill everyone's bowls.<p>

"Do you like Italian, B. J.?" She asked in a bid to make conversation.

The Deetzs had requested Lydia bring her new boyfriend over for a family meal, though Lydia felt it had been a demand more so than a request. It had taken a whole afternoon of pleading with Beetlejuice to get him to agree to come along, let alone to get him to promise to behave. Then again, hell would freeze over before _that_ happened.

Beetlejuice sat beside Lydia in a black-and-white t-shirt he had once owned as a teenager, his hair cleanly parted. When he smiled, he displayed an uncanny row of gleaming (fabricated) white teeth.  
>"Yes, ma'am," The 'young' blond licked his lips. He stared down at his bowl hungrily, oh so ready for a larger portion. After all, pasta was the only 'normal' food Beetlejuice <em>could <em>stomach, and only that was on account of its uncanny resemblance to worms.

Though Beetlejuice had initially loathed the idea of this evening, he had relaxed as time wore on. It was Lydia who was now sitting tense, waiting for It to come. _It_ would be a deliberate prank, or a slip of the tongue that revealed he wasn't who he said he was, or a figure of speech that would make his 'juice' trigger despite his will – whatever It was, It was going to be a disaster. This was going far too smoothly, it felt far too cosy, and Lydia knew better than to be lured into a false sense of security.

Just as Delia was about to fill up her bowl, Lydia held up a hand. "No thanks, Mom," She said before shovelling down the rest of her dinner. "I'm full,"  
>Beetlejuice smiled in a manner that he hoped was charming. "Well, if Lydia doesn't want any–"<br>Lydia shot him an icy look.  
>He seemed to freeze just from the force of her gaze and closed his mouth abruptly. Instead he sat back and smoothed back his hair, trying to think of the most appropriate way to finish the sentence he'd left hanging.<br>Charles and Delia were waiting almost expectantly.

_Ye-ughh. What would my disgusting excuse of a brother say? _He mentally whined, trying to decipher the kaleidoscope of thoughts racing through his brain at that single moment. Finally, he managed: "… it'd be a shame to let such a _pleasant _meal go to waste, Mrs Deetz." He held up a finger importantly. "I always freeze the leftovers and have them for lunch the next day. Y'know–" He gestured to the bowl. "–save that guy for later?"

Delia's eyes practically lit up. "What a _sweet_ idea," She said eagerly. A New Yorker who was too used to gourmet eat-out meals or, conversely, takeaways, had never thought about retaining _home-cooked_ leftovers. "You can have this tomorrow, Charles,"  
>Lydia's father didn't look happy at this suggestion, but tried to force a smile. "Ah hah, right… right… of course, Delia, dear,"<p>

At this, Beetlejuice turned to Lydia and winked, forking up his pasta and making it curl around his green-striped tongue as he stuck it out at her. _Nyaa.  
><em>"B. J.," Lydia interjected. "Don't we have somewhere to be?"

He sucked up the rest of the pasta and turned back to face her parents, using a napkin to theatrically dab at his lips. "Oh, yeah, time sure does fly, huh?" He pushed his seat back in sync with Lydia. "Excuse us; we really should be off,"

Delia rolled her eyes but not unpleasantly. "You two, always dashing off somewhere,"  
>"That's us," Lydia smiled.<br>"Busy bees," B. J. finished. And just then, for a split-second, the Deetz's swore he was wearing yellow and black stripes. When they blinked however, they saw his striped t-shirt was still monochrome.

Charles wiped his brow feverishly. He had to relax; he was imagining things.

* * *

><p>Later that same day, in Monitor's office, Lydia was perusing over a table covered in paperwork. Lyrics and song-sheets here, sponsorship contracts there, as well as various written plans for tours, screenings and a contrived schedule. The last Lydia didn't like the looks of; according to this schedule her diary was full until the end of the year, at least. Somewhere, somehow, no thought had been given to her education.<p>

"Ahuhuh… here are the immediate dates of your tour, Lydia," Monitor declared, handing her yet another sheet of paper.  
>She accepted it tiredly. "Um… thank you,"<br>"Naturally we'll be staging an appearance on our network this evening to launch your career." He said, gesturing to the line-up he had mounted on the wall of his office. Five back-to-back hours of programming all featured Lydia's name in the title. Her stomach flipped uneasily.  
>"Now, we need to discuss your image…"<p>

"Aren't I fine the way I am?" Lydia's voice was strained. "I thought Violet said..?"  
>Vi Nell pushed her glasses further up her nose. She leant across the table, placing her hands on it through layers of the piled-up papers. "We need to be specific, dear. We need to get started working on your debut and your album,"<p>

Lydia tried to look happy about this, but found it increasingly difficult. She'd been sat in this office for the past twenty minutes already, but it had already felt like hours. Glancing down at the tour dates now, she was at least happy to note that these more immediate dates didn't coincide with her _Lily Mode _and _Top Gossip _plans.

Beetlejuice was floating just above the table, hands folded behind his head, legs crossed at the knee. "So… when will all the money start coming in?" He asked with a grin.  
>Monitor displayed four false smiles. "Oh, ahuhuhuh, soon, soon, if all goes as planned. Now, Lydia…"<p>

Monitor and Violet began drilling Lydia with do's and don'ts, offers, proposals and ideas. Beetlejuice tuned the three of them out. They were talking business now, and it sounded like a lot of _work._

He hovered back and forth in his boredom, repeating a circuit as he glanced around the office for something to do.  
>Eventually he tried sitting and being patient, but patience was never one of his strong suits.<p>

After a few minutes Lydia glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.  
>He was irritably drumming his fingers on the side of the table, trying to appear as though he were calmly reading through the copy of <em>Slime <em>that he'd pilfered from the waiting area outside the office. He looked bored stiff, looked as though he were about to jump up and find something else to do some_where _else.

Lydia fumbled inside of the satchel she'd brought along with her, thinking to remove one of the purchases she'd made that morning in order to hand it to him to keep him occupied. Her hand closed around one of the wrapped lollipops, but… she paused.  
>Now, suddenly and inexplicably, a thought came to her, and a mischievous one at that.<p>

She'd sworn last week that she would show Beetlejuice that she was a woman now- or had she forgotten that? After all, what had she actually _done_? Successfully?  
><em>And for that matter…<em> She glanced at him now; his eyes were trained on either the magazine or his drumming fingers. _… What have I done to… catch his eye…?  
><em>Upon even thinking that she wanted to let out a giggle, but… didn't. That was the truth of the matter, after all, she _wanted _his attention, wanted him to see her as a 'babe' instead of just his ol' 'babes'.

Her gaze was back on the lollipop.  
>She remembered high school, remembered college, remembered how boys seemed to point out innuendo whenever girls ate hot dogs or lapped at ice creams and lollipops.<br>The wheels of her mind turned.

Finally, trying to feign an oblivious, naïve expression, she withdrew the candy from her bag and held it under the table, removing the wrapper discretely. Then, placing the scrunched-up transparent film on the table, she raised the beetle-pop to her mouth.  
>She licked it tentatively at first, expecting an unpleasant taste. She was relieved when her taste buds were met with a cooling minty flavour, and so began to enjoy it freely.<br>While, no, it wasn't professional, this was the Neitherworld, and this was Monitor and his accomplice for that matter. If they wanted her to be a popstar then they could expect her to be a diva too.

The two Neitherworldians were still talking. "What about a Twisted Alice? In _Neither_land, rather than Wonderland? Innocent but gothic, lost in a strange world..."  
>"Brilliant, Violet, ahuh… w-what do you think, Lydia?"<br>"Mmmhm," Lydia hummed as enthusiastically as she could around a mouthful of candy.

Monitor noticed the lollipop and reeled on the balls of his feet for a moment in disgust before shaking it off. He glanced at Violet but was relieved to note she had her back turned, and was heading over to the anteroom to grab something. "Your first album will be made up of tribute songs, enough to get you started, enough to attract fans. Then we can see if we can bait some songwriters into writing some lyrics for you," Violet spoke with her back turned.

"Mhm,"

Beetlejuice finally looked up after his usually articulate companion hummed a second unintelligible response. Then, at the sight of the lollipop protruding from her mouth, satisfied that she was just acknowledging what was spoken while eating, he went to look down back at his magazine.

_Waitaminute. _He did a double-take.  
>Beetlejuice blinked. Did he just see what he thought he saw? Was that– Was that a <em>beetle<em> in there?  
>Lydia didn't eat <em>beetles<em>.  
>Did she <em>know<em>? Should he tell her?

"Er, Lyds–"

Packaging was on the table. 'Insectisux' lollipops, printed in bold, black text.  
>Oh, she knew. And she looked like she was enjoying it.<p>

Beetlejuice's eyes not only popped out of his skull but each grew to the size of his head alone. His mouth watered.  
><em>Lydia's eating a lollipop with—with a beetle in it? And… <em>liking _it?  
><em>His eyes slammed back into his head just as he bit his lip and clutched onto either side of his magazine so hard that he ripped it clean in half.  
><em>Ohboy-ohboy-ohboy-ohboy…<em>

Now he knew why marketers used women on billboards, in commercials and in paper advertisements – pin-ups clutching beer bottles or draped over car hoods. Why? They made the whole package look desirable.  
>Beetlejuice wanted a lollipop. But, more importantly, he wanted Lydia.<p>

This sudden realisation made his face turn a deep shade of red as he slapped a hand over both his mouth and nose in a bid to stop himself hyperventilating. Or his nose bleeding.  
>A small voice in his head told him to look away, tried to steer his eyes in another direction, but they wouldn't budge. His gaze held.<p>

The way she was _licking _that thing, _sucking_ on it – that wasn't with any childish naivety. That was–  
>Her eyes turned only slightly, but enough to catch him staring.<br>Beetlejuice froze guiltily.  
>He removed the hand pressed to his face but kept his other hand beneath the table, which had been compressing something in his lap, in place.<p>

Before he could yelp an excuse or subject change, Lydia offered the candy. "Want to try, Beej?" She said in a voice as soft as silk.  
>He gulped, practically going cross-eyed as he stared at the tip of the lollipop.<p>

That thing had been in Lydia's mouth. If he accepted it, that was almost… almost like an indirect kiss.

Panic overtook him and he wrestled with two consciences for a moment before his immature, emotionally-retarded conscience took control of his mouth. "Naahhh," He said more loudly than he meant to. He crossed his legs and looked away, slipping his hands in his pockets nonchalantly. "I'll just have the beetle when you're done,"  
>"Oookay," Lydia sing-songed. Then the door of the anteroom clicked and Violet re-emerged.<p>

Lydia could have felt contrary, could have told him matter-of-factly that she didn't have cooties, thank you very much. She didn't. Instead, she felt a wave of triumph flow through her.  
>The sight of him with bulging eyes, blushing hard with a hand slapped over his face, stuck in her mind.<p>

Monitor kept his disgust at this display supressed, but nevertheless one screen still flashed the word 'ugh', despite himself. Something was quite clearly between the two of them, but despite his earlier beliefs and what he had overheard at the SOMFN evening, he didn't think it was quite so advanced. It was too innocent, too fumbling, and _that _meant he could still break it up.

He smirked. "Ahuh… Lydia, it might be good for your image if you were to be seen with the Neitherworld's, ahuh… _hottest _stars,"  
>Lydia's lips left the top of the lollipop as if finishing a kiss.<br>Mission accomplished, she began wrapping it back up into it's previously discarded packaging. "Oh?"  
>Monitor rubbed his hands together. "Ahuh, as an example, the prince caught wind of your career aspirations. Uhuhuh… he's already a <em>big<em> fan,"  
>Beetlejuice twitched, and turned very slowly back to face Lydia and Monitor. He cocked an eyebrow, eyes narrowing suspiciously.<p>

Lydia perked up. "Prince Vince?"  
>"Yes, indeed." Monitor said with an eager incline of the head.<br>Violet looked impressed.

"He has high hopes for you, Lydia. Some measure of _feelings_, too, ahuh."  
>Beetlejuice didn't need reminding. Steam began to silently stream from his ears before gradually changing pitch and volume. His eyes narrowed even further.<p>

"It would be nice to see such a celebrity pair, y'know... uhuh, get together," Monitor finished.  
>A sound not unlike that of a traditional kettle boiling was followed by a bursting train-whistle. The three jumped as Beetlejuice literally blew his top.<br>"Woah. Woah. Hold it." He objected, jumping to his feet. "That's outta line. My client's career has barely got off the ground, so a-n-y PR suggestions need to be approved by _me_ first."

Two of Monitor's screens looked gravely angry, the other two looked smug. "Ohoho, it was just a suggestion,"  
>"Oh, <em>yeah<em>?" Beetlejuice confronted him. "What do you want, a popstar or a princess?"  
>Lydia stood up, too, interrupting them. "Monitor, Prince Vince is a dear friend of mine, but that's all. My heart's not for sale,"<br>The fight knocked out of him, Beetlejuice stepped back and sniffed, folding his arms. _Well put, Lyds._

It was Violet who decided to rescue the situation that Monitor had let spiral out of control. She cleared her throat and began organising the paperwork on the table-top into piles. "At any rate, the prince has expressed an interest in having you perform at his upcoming birthday party,"  
>"Oh, I would love to," Lydia said immediately.<br>Beetlejuice blinked. "Wuh? … you would?"  
>"Yes,"<br>"Wonderful!" Monitor applauded.

Papers gathered, Violet stepped around the long table just as Lydia hefted her satchel. "Now, Miss Deetz, please come with me to the studio. We must start this creative process at once,"  
>"Of course," Lydia's response was automatic, despite it being late. Her parents weren't expecting her back for hours anyway.<br>"I'll be in touch soon, Lydia, ahuh," Monitor waved. "You're going straight to the top,"

Violet began to lead her to the door, and Beetlejuice made to follow. Before they even got outside however, the record producer had turned. "Unfortunately, Mr Juice, I ask that you return home. This process requires the upmost concentration and co-operation of all who are involved… something I feel we cannot ask of you."

He dodged the stab of the insult that he was sure was intended and acted as offhand as ever. "Daw, I try my best," He chuckled, before glancing at Lydia. "… y'sure, babes?"  
>She nodded. "It's fine. I'll catch you at the Roadhouse later,"<br>"Well… break a l—" Beetlejuice caught himself before he'd finished the idiom. Sometimes his 'juice acted of it's own accord around metaphors.  
>He smiled. "I mean, good luck babes,"<p>

* * *

><p>The Roadhouse's front door swung shut with a creak and a half-hearted push.<p>

Jacques stirred in the kitchenette, and poked his head around the corner. "Be-etlejuice? Is zat you?"  
>"Yeah…" Beetlejuice sounded gloomy. He floated over to the couch and TV set, and sat down, resting his head in his palm as he began flicking between channels.<p>

Ginger appeared beside Jacques. Both appeared to be wearing aprons. "Where's Lydia?"  
>"At some big-shot studio. Doomie's waitin' on her."<p>

Jacques glanced at Ginger. She looked back. Finally the skeleton said: "I see. So your plan worked, _non_?"  
>"Looks like it." The ghost replied shortly, finally settling on a show and leaning back to watch it.<p>

Ginger shuffled four of her six hind-legs and rubbed her hands together uncomfortably. "Is Lydia… okay with that?" She asked as carefully as she could.  
>Beetlejuice stopped and looked at the two of them. Unable to discern anything from their expressions, he shrugged. "Why wouldn't she be? Wouldn't you chew off your own foot, Ginge, for the chance to see <em>your <em>name in lights?"  
>"Yeah, but that's what <em>I've <em>always wanted." Ginger replied. "Lydia just wanted to spend time with–"

Beetlejuice rolled his eyes and turned back to the television, cutting Ginger off. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Lyds is happy enough."

He stared at the screen for a moment longer before deciding that, one, he didn't much like anything that was on TV at the moment after all and, two, it was pretty uncomfortable with both of his roommates stood there, trying to think of something to say.  
>He floated up off of the sofa and began to head for his room. "I'm gonna catch some Zs." He said, more to himself than the two watching him retreat.<p>

Jacques and Ginger looked at each other again, and sighed.

* * *

><p>The sky had been pitch-black for a good few hours when Doomie finally pulled up outside of the Roadhouse. He gave a happy series of bleeps and grunts of his engine and Lydia, acting translator as ever, patted his hood after getting out. "We sure are home, Doomie. Thanks for waiting," Her voice was tired even to her own ears.<br>Doomie tooted a 'goodnight' before driving around to the side and parking next to Pinky in their carport.

Lydia stepped quietly over to the front door and let herself in, glancing around the messy interior of the Roadhouse. "I'm ho-" She stopped herself. "I'm back. Beetlejuice?" She whispered.  
>As far as she could see, every light in the house was off. Eerily reminded of the night of the SOMFN event, she closed the door softly behind her and made her way up to the penthouse area.<p>

Beetlejuice's door wasn't closed this time, it was slightly ajar, and she made out the sound of his snoring before catching a glimpse of him curled up on his bed.  
>He'd fallen asleep fully clothed in his suit, hands flat to his stomach; it rose and fell in sync with his chest as he breathed.<p>

Lydia had thought about just heading straight home, but she wanted to let him know she was back even if it did mean waking him up.  
>She stepped inside and trod over to the side of his bed, catching sight of the framed picture he had of her over his side table. He'd since replaced the old photo with a more recent one.<br>Drained, she had enough energy, at least, to smile brightly.

She gave Beetlejuice a slight nudge. "B. J.?"  
>"Mrrrmm…" He mumbled, rolling onto his side.<p>

Lydia tried nudging him again as he smacked his lips together loudly, his snoring rhythm interrupted. Though she felt she'd shaken him out of a deep sleep, he was still determined to continue with a light one.  
>His hands now clutched at the sheets he'd fallen asleep on top of, his brows furrowed. "Mmmfn…"<br>Then, all of a sudden he looked stricken, shaking his head to and fro at an accelerated pace.  
>"N-No- Lydiaaaaa- not the m-m-mouthwash….! NYAAAGHHH!"<p>

Lydia glanced heavenwards, incredulous, before shaking him to his senses. "Beej!"  
>"Bwah!" His eyes snapped open just as he fell out of bed with a thump, blond hair askew. Then he sat up, peeping his head above the side of the bed, eyes drooping tiredly. "Wuh? L-Lyds?" His voice was groggy.<p>

"I'm back," She said, soothingly. "You were having a dream, B. J.."  
>Whatever he'd been dreaming about had clearly flown out of his head. A hand came up to his temple before he wiped his eyes. "I was?"<br>"Mmhm,"

"Uh… how'd it go?" He asked, struggling to string his words together.  
>Lydia smiled. "Really well. Here, I forgot to give these to you earlier." She pulled out the remaining lollipops from her satchel.<br>Now fully awake, Beetlejuice's eyes gleamed as he gasped and leapt to his feet. "But, Lyds! It ain't even my birthday!" He cried excitedly, grabbing them all in one swoop. Then he stopped, anxious. What _was_ the occasion then?  
>"What have I missed?" He asked, worried.<p>

Lydia laughed and held up her hands. "Nothing, there's no occasion, I just- saw them and I thought of you. They're not half bad."  
>Beetlejuice reddened as he remembered how he'd reacted at the sight of her having one to herself earlier. He swallowed thickly, clutching onto the lollipops as though they were a posie of flowers. "Eh heh…"<p>

Lydia's eyes were heavily lidded. "I'd... better get home."  
>She looked exhausted. Beetlejuice wasn't even sure she'd make it to the Door, if she decided to go the long way about it.<p>

"Hey, if you're gonna drop, you could stay over…" He said without thinking. Then, after the words had left him, he gulped.  
>They both stood there in the still darkness of the house at the foot of his bed, and thought the same thing. What would happen if she did? And what would that mean?<p>

Lydia broke the awkward silence shakily. "I would," She replied honestly, "But my parents are expecting me."  
>She had to stop herself blurting out: 'Another time, though,'.<br>Beetlejuice nodded. "Uh, yeah. 'Course,"

Silence.

"Um, night, B. J.," Lydia said softly.  
>"Mm… night, Lyds."<p>

Still, they both lingered, looking at each other, or more importantly into each others' eyes. Lydia noticed, not for the first time, that sometimes, just when you forgot he _had _irises, Beetlejuice's gaze would become particularly intense, and you could make out how gorgeously green they were. For a minute she was almost sucked into those eyes.

Both felt as though they should do something, and hesitated.  
>This was the moment in every chick-flick where the girl chastely kissed the guy on her doorstep after he'd walked her home, and she either invited him back upstairs or he skipped away happily down the sidewalk.<p>

They both smiled awkwardly.

"Errr… sleep well," Beetlejuice put in helpfully, reminding Lydia how this was supposed to go.

She nodded, voice barely above a whisper. "You too," She breathed, before 'juicing herself home.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **(bites lip) I'm such a tease.

Oh, and yes, you really can buy lollipops like that. They're actually called Insectilix Lollipops; I took the liberty of mixing up their flavours and fillings a little bit.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

The queue for the checkouts in the Shocking Mall's Revolting Records was no longer even _in_ the store, nor the mall for that matter.  
>For the first time, an album made by a living person was not only on sale but had become a bestseller overnight, and crowds had streamed in hoping to pick up a copy.<br>Even topside, in Peaceful Pines, Lydia's interview with _Lily Mode _had not only gone smoothly but had gone straight to print, and now every copy in her hometown had sold out.  
>Despite all this success, Lydia wasn't resting on her laurels. She had no free time at all anymore.<p>

Her tour was underway and had gone off without a hitch so far. Her debut album, entitled _Black Alice in Neither-Neitherland _was a hit, despite her lack of superstar presence. Lydia wondered how Violet had gotten away with naming a tribute album something that had no reference to the tracks on the CD, but had let it go. This was the Neitherworld; questions were usually left unanswered.  
>She'd made up a list of songs from her world that she felt comfortable singing, and Violet, of course not knowing <em>any <em>current songs from the land of the living, had just agreed after hearing short bursts of each track.  
>With Monitor and Violet's efforts, Lydia was fast becoming a household name in the Neitherworld.<p>

Whilst people were flocking to stores to get her album, others were gathered around her here, now. She'd been onstage for the past half-hour, dressed like a Victorian slasher doll with a decapitated teddy bear under one arm.

She'd just finished singing a few covers of Evanescence tracks and had called for a break, but now as she retreated from the stage she looked through the crowd to try and catch a glimpse of Beetlejuice. He hadn't been backstage at the last interval, and she doubted he would be there this time.  
>The audience was too thick; it was hard to pick out his face amongst the sea of people beneath her. Giving up, she stepped behind the stage-curtain, vanishing to cries of 'more!'.<p>

* * *

><p>"Get your merchandi-ise!" Beetlejuice hollered, stood on a small platform that he'd 'juiced up right behind a stall full of goods. "Step right up folks and get your merchandise for the starlet of the <em>cen<em>tury! The maiden of the millennia! Lydiaaa Deetz!"

Ever since security had tried to forcibly eject him earlier, unable to believe this slob could be Lydia's manager, Beetlejuice had made himself look like a prim, executive version of himself. His hair was a little shorter and slicked back, his pinstripes narrower and his teeth straight and gleaming. It was easy making himself _look_ different, but acting and sounding different was nigh impossible for him.

"You, sir!" He pointed at some teenager in the crowd. "You look like you need a Lydia t-shirt,"  
>Suddenly his stall was set upon. His eyes turned into giant dollar signs as kids, teenagers and adults, predominately males, threw wads and wads of cash at him as they grabbed handfuls of merchandise.<br>"Yeeeee!" Beetlejuice squealed happily, pocketing as many notes as he could in one fell swoop.

Pretty soon, however, the cart was only bare bones, and he was still surrounded by males of varying ages, mostly between fifteen and their mid-twenties.  
>One fanboy slammed his hands down on the counter. "Do you have any pictures?" He demanded eagerly.<br>Beetlejuice, who'd been too busy snatching cash out of the air, blinked. "Bwuhh?"  
>He stuffed some more notes into his pockets distractedly, and then stepped over the kid. "Pictures?" He repeated, incredulous.<br>Another guy appeared next to the first, leaning as far over the counter as he could. "Yeah, pictures of Lydia!" He agreed.

Not one to let easy money pass him by, Beetlejuice nodded vaguely. "Uh, sure, sure…" Then, just like that, he 'juiced up some photos, making them appear between his fingers. Standing like a magician displaying a hand in a card trick, he held them out. "That'll be twenty dollars each,"  
>The first kid looked appalled. "For a <em>photo<em>?"  
>Unsympathetic, Beetlejuice waved the photographs. "Hey, do you want one or don't ya?"<br>A guy at the back tried to push his way forwards. "I'll take it if he won't pay!"  
>The kid's eyes bulged and he grabbed for a photo, pushing a Neitherworldian twenty dollar bill across the counter. "No, no, I'll take it!" He cried, before retreating.<p>

It wasn't long before all the photos in Beetlejuice's hand sold out.  
>Beetlejuice found himself 'juicing up photograph after photograph then, but his magic could only do so much. It was one thing to teleport something, or build something out of what was already in front of you, but quite another to bring something into existence. After doing it for so long he found his energy completely zapped. Instead of creating photographs from nothing, he had to zap ones he had at home to sell instead, and that hurt.<br>He no longer liked the hungry looks on the boys' faces. Just why did they want pictures of his Lyds anyway?

When Beetlejuice gave up 'juicing photos from home, two unsatisfied teens still remained, making 'give me' motions with their hands. One of them was the second kid who'd spoken up in the first place. "More photos?" He asked.  
>"Uh…" Beetlejuice began searching in his pockets, flustered. Finally he found the corner of something that felt like a photograph and pulled it out without thinking. When he caught sight of it, he saw that it was the one he'd pieced together of his and Lydia's prom photos. He was too numb with surprise to pocket it immediately.<p>

"I'll take it!" The boy in front of him snatched it from him.  
>Beetlejuice, stunned, blinked, before he made to grab it back. "No! Wait– that's <em>mine<em>!" He objected.  
>With his spare hand the kid threw some money at him. "H-Here, take this–"<br>Beetlejuice ignored the dollars that rained down around him and tugged so hard on the photo that the teen almost came with it. He tried to laugh it off. "No, no, no, you don't want a picture like _this_,"  
>"I'll crop the jerk out of it, but she looks <em>hot <em>here!"

_Jerk?  
>Hot<em>?

Something inside of Beetlejuice snapped.  
>His face turned a dark shade of red that almost deepened to purple in his rage.<br>"Hey! BACK OFF, KID!" He roared, throwing in his infamous Double Deluxe Lung-Tosser face for good measure.  
>The teenager screamed, horrified, before letting go of his side of the photo and hitting the ground running. The other remaining guy ran with him.<p>

In the aftermath, customer-less and panting angrily, Beetlejuice looked down at the successfully defended photograph… only to find that a fault line had ripped its way down the middle during the tug-of-war, almost separating him and Lydia.  
>He groaned sadly, running his fingertips over the surface before putting it away in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Then he snapped his fingers, 'juicing himself back to normal and making the stall and platform disappear.<p>

_Idiot punk kid… _He thought to himself, scratching the nape of his neck as he fought his way through the crowd towards the heavily guarded entrance of the back-stage area.

He was offended by the teen calling him a jerk, but there was something else too, the same thing that had driven him over the edge.  
><em>Hmph. How could he have the nerve to say that about Lydia?<br>_Beetlejuice wasn't sure what bothered him so much about someone calling Lydia 'hot'; he wasn't sure whether he hated that it made her out to be some piece-of-meat idol, or whether it reminded him that other guys saw her as attainable. After all, she _was _a stunner.

He stopped, and then shook his head with a soundless laugh.  
>Yes, yes she was, and he'd always known it, he'd just never wanted to admit it to himself, let alone out loud. She was all grown-up now, these past two weeks with her had taught him as much. She was a mature young woman. Everything had changed, and yet… and yet nothing had changed. She still laughed at all of his jokes, still hung on his every word and still expressed a desire to be with him. He still felt the same low whenever she was gone, still felt the same compulsion to be at her side at every waking moment, and now that she was back from college it seemed she felt that same way too. And the way she <em>looked <em>at him these days... he hadn't yet worked out quite what those looks meant.

He thought about what the kid had said about the photo; how he hadn't commented on her appearance until that one picture – the one that she'd been with Beetlejuice in.  
>What did that mean? Was it that she was better looking when placed next to someone ugly? <em>Not that I'm ugly<em>, Beetlejuice told himself. But who was he kidding? He was hardly attractive.  
>Was it because she was happier in that photo than the others? Was it <em>because <em>he was with her that she was happier, that she looked 'hotter'? … and if that was the case then, again, what did that _mean_?

A security guard stepped in front of Beetlejuice's path, expression grave. "This is a restricted area. Move along,"  
>Beetlejuice dug in his pockets for a backstage pass but came up with nothing; it appeared that Monitor had conveniently forgotten to give him one. "Er, I'm Lydia's manager," He explained.<br>The thug of a guard sniffed. Beetlejuice wondered if he and Armhold Musclehugger were related or just gym-buddies; they had the exact same build. The guard didn't budge, voice patronising when he spoke. "Right, 'course you are. I said move along,"  
>Beetlejuice didn't have time for this guy's crap. Why was he bothering anyway? "You know whut? I will," He said, before snapping his fingers, disappearing in front of the guard's eyes.<br>He zapped himself backstage.

Lydia, sat down at a dressing table and staring morosely into a wall-mounted mirror, gasped as Beetlejuice's reflection appeared beside hers. She whipped around. "Beej!"  
>"Missed me?"<br>She put down the brush she'd been running through her hair, palms facing the ceiling as she gestured to him in disbelief. "Where've you _been_?"

"Making us some money, babes, like you've been doin'," He pulled up a chair beside her, glancing around the small dressing room. At the moment it was crammed full of haphazardly strewn costumes, and the table Lydia had been sat at was covered in make-up and hair products.  
>He wrinkled up his nose indifferently.<p>

Lydia sighed. "Beetlejuice, I don't care about the money," She said patiently.  
>"I know, I know, but when it's there for the taking…"<br>"… how can you say no?" She finished for him.  
>"Exactly!"<p>

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Like this, 'n–'"  
>He pressed a finger to her lips to cut her off. Internally he revelled at how warm and soft they were.<br>Lydia stared back at him, stunned.

After a moment, Beetlejuice shut his eyes, let out a breath, and then composed himself. He looked at her. "Lyds, when we're done here y'wanna go for a walk?"

_A walk_? _Since when do we go for _walks? Lydia thought, curious.  
>She raised a brow suspiciously as he pulled his finger from her mouth, letting her speak. "We… won't be done till late, Beej. You know that, right?"<br>"Aww, come on, don't be a stick in the mud, babes. You're not afraid of the dark, and you've got _me_; what's gonna happen?"

"You'll protect me from the 'creatures that prowl in the night?'" She teased, voice deepening dramatically.  
>Beetlejuice flashed a debonair smile. "That's what I'm here for,"<br>"Sounds nice, B. J.," Lydia said eventually, then watched as his eye twitched at the poor choice of word.  
>"Really? That's what I've been reduced to? Being '<em>nice'<em>?"  
>Lydia corrected herself. "Okay, I mean, it sounds <em>frightening<em>. But thrilling. And I'm oh so up for it."  
>"That's better,"<p>

An attendant stuck her head around the door. "Five minutes to curtain, Miss Deetz,"

Lydia stood up with a sigh. "Well, I guess I gotta go. How'd I look?"  
>She was wearing a body-con dress that looked like it had been made out of a candy-cane, all diagonal red and white stripes. The only difference was this candy-cane had been splattered with blood.<br>Beetlejuice reclined in his seat. "Like you're about to rip Little Miss Warden's _head_ off. I love it,"  
>"Ha." Lydia began to giggle. Recovering, she smiled brightly. "See you on the other side, Beej," She waved, stepping out of the room.<br>"Knock 'em deader, Lyds!" He called after her.

* * *

><p>The Neitherwoods at night was hauntingly beautiful in a way that only Lydia and like-minded girls could really appreciate. The moonlight filtered through the canopy and spotlighted the forest floor, picking out the detail in whatever it cast on. It was like the setting of a <em>noir<em> film, everything black and white, the sky indiscernible amidst the branches of the gnarled, dead trees.

They'd left the path a good hundred yards back, and Lydia had no idea where they were. She didn't care. This walk had been almost meditative, and with every minute that passed she was slipping deeper and deeper into a serene, enlightened state.  
>A breeze whipped through the woods, howling through branches and twigs to reach them. She wrapped her arms around herself as it hit.<p>

"Y'cold?"

Lydia jumped at the sound of Beetlejuice's voice. It was the first thing he'd said for the past ten minutes or so, despite him floating along beside her.  
>"A little," She admitted. She'd left the tour venue wearing only her red, cobwebbed dress and nothing was covering her arms. Summer didn't seem to touch the Neitherwoods in the evenings.<p>

The next moment she heard rustling, fabric against fabric, and when she turned she saw that Beetlejuice had removed his jacket.  
>"Ah–"<br>He draped it over her shoulders, his feet planted firmly on the ground now.  
>He rubbed the back of his head absently. "Uh, if anything moves in there, Lyds, it's just a snack for later," He explained almost sheepishly.<p>

Lydia flushed. He'd never offered her his jacket before. She'd never seen him be quite so… so gentlemanly.  
>"Aren't you gonna be–?" She began, but he waved a hand.<br>"I'm dead, babes. I don't feel the cold,"  
>"Oh…"<p>

They started walking again.

Lydia clutched onto his jacket. Funny; even though she knew his skin was usually cold to the touch, sometimes freezing even, his jacket felt almost warm, as though from body heat.  
>She looked at him. "You don't feel the cold at all?"<br>He shrugged.  
>"What about warm? You can feel warm, right?"<br>Beetlejuice's nose wrinkled. "Well…"

Without another word, Lydia stepped over to him and wrapped an arm around his waist, leaning into him.  
>Beetlejuice stopped walking. He glanced down at her, not that he had to tip his head very far now that she was older – she was gaining on him fast. He smiled shakily. "I can feel <em>you're <em>warm, babes,"  
>"Good," She hummed. She slot in nicely by his side.<p>

Beetlejuice bit his lip, opened his mouth to say what he had been about to, closed it, then opened it again. Finally he said: "Do you know how many times I've had to go the doctor since I've been with you?"  
>The question seemed to come out of nowhere. Lydia, intrigued, glanced up, brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"<br>"To check I'm still dead, is what I mean,"

Lydia thought about this. As far as she knew, he'd only been once for his so-called bi-centennial check-up. "Once?" She asked.  
>"Nope."<br>She laughed. "Are you trying to say I make you feel alive again?"  
>Beetlejuice caught her eye. "Well, yeah," He replied, seriously and matter-of-factly.<p>

Lydia stopped in her tracks. _Oh_.  
>She began to blush.<p>

Again, they kept on walking. Minutes of silence passed before Beetlejuice decided to clear the air. "So, uh, Lyds–"  
>"Yes, Beej?" She prompted.<br>He stalled for a moment, then began to phrase what he'd been meaning to all evening. "You… wanna go slimeballing? You, me, rifles loaded with slime, stalking these woods for the poor saps pit against us?"

Lydia's face, despite the lateness of the night, was radiant. Her eyes practically gleamed. _Is he… asking me out? On a _date_?  
><em>"I'd love to," She said without hesitation and leant into him again. This time he wrapped an arm around her shoulder.  
>"Well– on one condition…"<br>Beetlejuice froze beside her, but looked down only to find her smiling encouragingly up at him.  
>"… we go to the Freaky Eyescream Shop afterwards?"<p>

A look of relief crossed the poltergeist's face. He grinned eagerly. "It's a date!" He cried suddenly. Then his eyes widened. "Er– deal. I- I mean, it's a deal…"  
>Lydia pressed her face into his side and grinned. Despite her close proximity to both his mouth and armpit, areas most considered dangerously toxic, she couldn't, well, <em>smell<em> anything. Maybe because after all of these years she'd grown immune, or psychologically she'd stopped being able to process it.  
>No, the only thing she could smell was an overtone of something like… like aftershave. And it smelt <em>good<em>.

She blinked. "Beej, are you wearing cologne?"  
>He tensed. "Me? No, no, not apart from my Eau de Wet Dog," The way his voice cracked at the beginning of the sentence, however, told her otherwise. It was though he'd jumped immediately on the defensive.<p>

Eyebrows raised, Lydia pointed up at him. "You _are_ wearing some!" She accused.  
>He withdrew his arm from her, gesturing wildly. "Gah! What would I do that for?"<br>Lydia shrugged. She wasn't sure herself. "Well you won't bathe, so it's the only way you're going to be even half-presentable," She supposed.

Beetlejuice blew a raspberry. "Nnnnahhh. This is me you're accusing, Lyds. Ya must have hit your head," He began to walk on ahead, his pace quickened, hands stuffed in his trouser pockets.  
>Lydia watched his retreating back, eyes narrowed in suspicion. <em>No… you're denying it so childishly that I'm right. I know I am<em>. _You'd have just laughed it off if you weren't._

She dashed after him and put a firm hand on his arm, physically stopping him. "Hey," She said. "You… You don't have to change, B. J.,"  
>Beetlejuice turned to face her slowly, an eyebrow sceptically cocked. "Lyds, have you seen me in anything <em>but <em>this suit?"  
>Lydia stared back at him. That was a stupid question, even though it was meant to be rhetorical.<em> Yes, I have, actually<em>.  
>He was missing the point, however, and she charged on ahead before the subject dropped.<br>"No, I mean, you don't have to change who you are. For anyone. I'd never want that. You're fine just the way you are,"

His eyes seemed to grow big then. As he processed what it was she was saying, he finally let down his guards and smiled, with his lips only but also with his eyes, and it struck Lydia how he seemed to change in that moment from something so unhandsome to something so beautiful.

Lydia wished he'd have let his smile be the only response because when he opened his mouth he spoiled the moment. "Geez, Lyds, that's sappy even for you,"  
>She hit him playfully on the arm. "You're such an ass, Beej," She laughed.<br>He linked his arm with hers, smirking at her. "You liiike it," He crooned back.

Lydia was still laughing. "That's because you're not one all the time. 'Y'cold, Lyds? Want my jacket?' Aw, what a _nice _guy,"  
>He looked positively revolted at this. "GAH! Not the 'n' word!" He cried, tugging at his hair. As if trying to destroy any opportunity for that word to remain associated with him, he went to snatch his jacket back. "Hey, gimme that!"<p>

"Mmnnope!" Lydia dashed off, clinging onto the collar of the jacket and cackling madly. "Gonna have to catch me, Beets!"  
>"Lydiaaa!" He called after her. "C'mon! Give!"<br>She dove into the thick of the woods, slipping her arms into the suit jacket's sleeves so she didn't have to worry about holding onto it.  
>"But it looks good on me!" She chanted back teasingly before taking off at a sprint.<p>

"Hey, Lyds! Get back here!" Beetlejuice could only whine after her as he gave chase. "See? See? You're getting warm by running, babes! I lied; I can feel the cold! _Babes! _Where'd ya go? Heyyyy! Gimme back my jacket!_" _  
>Despite his petulant bellowing, he was grinning from ear to ear as he tailed her through the woods.<p> 


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

"Ahuhuh, soooo- what do you think?"  
>Monitor was gesturing around at the interior of a luxurious penthouse apartment, housed in a large complex that towered out of a high-class housing area in New Yuck's city-centre.<br>It was grandiose, considering it was a Neitherworldian apartment; the design contemporary and almost hotel-like.  
>Lydia tried to look pleasant. "Ah… it's– lovely, Mr Monitor, but this isn't necessary. I don't need an apartment,"<p>

"Ahuh, but you need to live on this side while touring, my little starlet, uhuh…" Monitor said almost nervously.

Lydia stepped over to the ceiling-to-floor, corner-to-corner window that occupied the wall opposite them, and looked out at the horizon. Her lips were pressed together tightly. "Does my contract state that?" She asked.  
>"Well, uh, no…" Monitor admitted.<br>She turned. "Then I don't _need _to. If I need to stay on this side, then I can stay with Beetlejuice,"

In response to this, Monitor's faces seemed to darken as though someone had adjusted his screens' brightness or contrast. "That wouldn't be good for your _image_, Lydia,"  
>"Or your ratings? Monitor?" She prompted, smiling sweetly.<p>

Monitor opened his mouths, four pairs of eyebrows drawing together angrily. Then, the network mogul composed himself before he could say anything out of turn. He had wanted to snap at her, had wanted to deny her access to Beetlejuice, but he didn't have the power to do so. Now that he'd taken a deep breath, he could at least ask the question he'd been meaning to ask her now that they were alone.  
>"Ahahah… Can I ask what your relationship with Beetlejuice <em>is<em>, Lydia?" He asked unassumingly, stepping over to the fireplace on the wall to his right so as to distractedly run a finger along the mantelpiece.

Lydia hesitated, her palm still pressed to the window. Now that the question had arisen, she was asking herself the same thing. What _was _their relationship? They were still best friends, in all intensive purposes. Nothing had changed. So then why did it feel like everything had changed?  
><em>Because I'm all grown up. <em>She told herself. _And… because I love him_. She still felt a jolt even when thinking it, as though she could hardly believe it were true.

Lydia chewed her lip as she pondered, reflecting on their walk in the Neitherwoods only last night, about the date (could she call it that?) that they'd planned for this afternoon.  
>Their relationship status still equalled a giant question mark.<br>After a minute, she shook her head. "… No,"

Monitor stopped idly scrubbing the mantel. One of his faces frowned. "No?"

Lydia's hand slipped noisily from the windowpane. Suspicion was gnawing at her. Monitor had no right to ask her such a personal question, and the fact that he had the guts to prompt her when she'd declined made her angry.  
>"He's my 'manager', <em>and<em> he's my best friend, you know that," She snapped.  
>Monitor folded his arms, smirking in a challenging manner. "So—ahuhuh- <em>that<em> is the answer to my question. Isn't it?"

Lydia lost her cool. Her latent distrust of him had been roused and that look on his face (or, well, faces) didn't sit well with her either. "Why do you need to know? Because of my 'image'? Monitor, I'll appear on your network, I'll participate in this nonstop tour, I'll sing till my throat bleeds, but you're _**not**_ separating me and Beej,"  
>Three of Monitor's four screens looked stricken and blameworthy, the other glowered in a black rage that was quickly replaced by an NTV 'broadcasting error' message. "What are you suggesting?" He tried to dodge, striving to plaster innocent expressions on his faces.<p>

Lydia stared at him for a while, trying to figure him out, while her hands shook at her sides with an energy she couldn't place. This speaking up for herself… it felt _good_.  
>"I'm not suggesting anything." She said in a flighty, almost catty tone that wasn't as per her usual character. "I'm just saying that my private life is mine, and it's just that, <em>private<em>."

Monitor took an anxious step back, his hands up with the palms out in surrender. For a brief second it looked to Lydia as though he were cowering, then she blinked and the image was gone. She shut her eyes, took a deep breath, and then glanced back out of the window.  
>Lydia understood what had just happened; she'd just felt a high from the reprimand she'd given Monitor, and energy was still pumping through her in its aftermath. Suddenly she knew how people could get addicted to power, knew how celebrities could become hateful divas that would talk down their noses at people. She didn't want to be like that, not a snotty girl like Clare Brewster.<p>

Her stormy expression dissipated. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, Monitor. ... I think. I know you and Beetlejuice don't get along, heck, I know most of the Neitherworld and Bee-" She stopped, mentally counting. She'd never called him from within the Neitherworld at a location without him, but she still worried that if she said his name once more he'd be here to hear the conversation. "– _B. J._ don't get along. But just because I'm going 'straight to the top' doesn't mean I'm going to drop him for the sake of popularity,"

Monitor wrung his hands nervously, and stepped back to the door to the apartment, opening it up to usher her through. "Whatever you say, Lydia, ahuh… you're the star," He said in hopes of appeasing her. "I won't mention it again,"

Lydia followed him to the door and outside, feeling wretched all of a sudden. Guilt over her power trip festering within her, all thoughts of what she'd been getting defensive about in the first place left her head. "I'm sorry," She said to Monitor as the door to the penthouse closed behind them. "I didn't mean to get shirty about it,"  
>He looked startled by her apology, but masked it quickly. "Ahuh… no, no, it's entirely <em>my<em> fault, uhuh. Let's not mention this again,"

When they reached the lobby, Monitor pressed the button to call for the elevator. "We have a busy day ahead of us, Lydia,"  
>She looked up at him expectantly as they stepped inside. "We do?"<br>"You have an interview with Barf Biffman in about two hours, ahuh. This is big, Lydia. This is really big,"

Monitor draped a large, heavy arm around her shoulders and gave her what was supposed to be an affectionate shake, though to Lydia it felt almost controlling.

She was bowled over by the speed by which this was going. Only last week she was a nobody, and now she was a best-selling artist with an invite to a chat show? She swallowed nervously and tried to look keen. "I'll do my best, Monitor," She said as the elevator began to descend.  
>The Neitherworldian's hold on her grew more uncomfortable with each floor they passed on the way down.<p>

* * *

><p>The set for Frightday Nights with Barf Biffman was awash with bright neon lights, and already surrounded by an eager audience. A jack-in-the-box style coffin had been wheeled in for the co-host and in the centre of the set, on a raised circular platform, sat two egg-shaped bucket chairs.<p>

Lydia had been dressed in a pair of red, tartan three-quarter-lengths, a black asymmetrical top and a red beret that now sat on a slant on the crown of her head. She'd been told to wear heels and flash as much skin as possible; she was wearing opaque black tights and pumps. Unlike the tour outfits, she felt comfortable in this one, mostly due to the colour combination; red and black was 'her'.

She glanced at a cameraman, expression pleading. "Um, 'xcuse me – do you have the time?"  
>The guy looked like he'd been pickled in a jar for decades; his skin, an unsightly sallow colour, clung to his bones. He lifted his sound-guards. "Wuh?"<br>Lydia gestured to her arm as though there were a watch there, and tapped the top of her wrist. "The time? Do you know what the time is?"  
>The Neitherworldian looked at her like she'd lost her mind. He shook his head dumbly and turned back to setting up the cameras ready for the show.<p>

Lydia sighed, sagging with the weight of it. What time had she arranged to meet Beetlejuice? In two- maybe three hours? Or was it sooner? She couldn't work out how long she'd been at this studio already. Could she make it out of here on time? Well, maybe if she left immediately after the show.  
>She tapped her foot on the floor, anxious.<p>

Why wasn't B. J. here anyway? Monitor had told him when and where to be; it was just like him not to show. In the beginning she hadn't known what to expect of him but as managers went he wasn't a very good one. So far he'd turned up to show his face at a handful of events, collect the pay cheques and disappear. Not that she was complaining, exactly; she didn't expect him to be any more or less than what he was. It was just… Lydia wished he'd be around more, would appreciate _this _more. Then again, what was going slimeballing together if not appreciation?

Monitor was standing in front of the audience, an expression on his face that Lydia couldn't place.

Someone began directing her to her seat, giving her a brief review of things Barf _might _ask her so she could prepare responses. Lydia didn't bother getting too organised, she didn't trust any NTV show to follow any guidelines.  
>Lydia thought of asking for the time once again, but a cameraman was counting down numbers on his fingers backwards from five.<p>

She glanced heavenward, and took a deep breath. _Well then… let's just get this over with…  
><em>

* * *

><p>On the other side of town Beetlejuice had just accepted, on Lydia's behalf, her share of royalties from the tour. That was the good thing about the Neitherworld, things seemed to happen fast and people seemed to get paid fast. Beetlejuice had also, conveniently, just spent his 6040 share of that same money. After all, the Shocking Mall had had a sale on, and how could a slob like him say no to a kingsize, four-poster coffin bed and a pavilion-housed deluxe rot-tub?

Out with the old and in with the new, he was busy transferring both his bed bugs and (albeit small) stash of money beneath his previous mattress to his new bed when a thought struck him. Where was Lydia?

He stopped.

He hadn't heard from her all day, not since she'd popped in on her way to meet with Monitor that morning.  
>And thinking of Lydia… He stretched his neck in the direction of his living space, and the clock mounted in there, so he could catch a glimpse of the time. Then, elasticity limit reached, his head snapped back into place. He was meeting Lydia in two hours. It occurred to him they hadn't said <em>where <em>to meet, though, since he'd assumed she'd meet him here.

He began pacing back and forth at the foot of his four-poster, chin cupped in hand. A thought crossed his mind: should he be getting ready to go out? As in, _ready-_ready? He thought about pilfering some of Jacques' cologne as he had last night but then, quickly, thought better of it. Lydia had been right: what had he been doing, and what was he considering doing now? Wearing cologne, getting dressed up, pretending to be something he wasn't? That wasn't _him_. He didn't need to change for anybody. Even if that somebody was Lydia.

He looked down at himself all the same.  
><em>Kinda fancy jumping into a different suit, though… <em>He thought. Snapping his fingers together, Beetlejuice zapped himself to his own attic, where he removed an identical ensemble from the racking up there and changed into it. Then, thinking better of it, he swapped his usual magenta shirt for a white one. Sniffing his clothes, content they were still strong, still 'him', he then zapped himself back into his bedroom.

Stood facing his mirror, he tried adjusting his tie. His hands fell still when he caught a glimpse of himself. An image pulsed through his brain so suddenly and powerfully that he rocked on his feet and let out a high-pitched shriek. For half a moment he'd almost seen himself staring back at him; his _alive _self. When he blinked, the ghost of the reflection was gone.  
>Yelping, he tapped the mirrored glass, but nothing else happened. His usual reflection stared back at him.<p>

His hair was a mess, but not terribly so. In fact, his hair was usually the only part of him he bothered to take care of; he combed it through every day. It was dry and straw-like though, _dead _hair. It hadn't always been like this, of course. Before he'd kicked the bucket it had been full and gleaming, with half as many split ends.  
>He remembered that his mother had <em>hated <em>his long hair at first, had chased after him with scissors.  
>'<em>Junior! You can only have it that long if you take care of it!'<br>_He supposed that was why he had, and force of habit had ensured he continued to do so even into his afterlife. In time, Bea had grown to accept and even like it, and hadn't bothered to threaten him with a haircut during his Reset afterlife either.

He shuffled closer to the mirror, making funny faces at himself as he pulled down the bags under his yellow, jaundiced eyes. After staring into them long enough he tried to remember when he'd had _normal _eyes. Human eyes. And without the panda-rings too.

In his own opinion he was ugly, but he wasn't _that _ugly. Hell, when he'd been alive he hadn't been half-bad looking, except his personality and habits had stunk, just like they did now. A jerk in life, and a jerk in death.

… Yeah, he was dead all right. And Lydia was alive.

_Oh.  
><em>Was that why he was examining himself? He didn't usually stare into a mirror long enough to test if he could actually break it with his looks.

Now that the thought had come to him, he took a half-wounded step back and rested his hands in his pockets, frowning.

Why was Lydia wasting her life with him, in the Neitherworld? You're a long time dead, after all, and she'd have plenty of time to kill here eventually. Wasn't he stopping her from living her life?

Instantly, the selfish part of him snapped that _nothing_ would pull him and Lydia apart, and he stuck his tongue out at his own reflection.

He began adjusting his tie once more. "Thinkin' too much… I _hate _it when that happens," He said petulantly, but the dark thoughts didn't disappear entirely. They nestled into a deep part of his subconscious, and rested. Dormant.

* * *

><p>"Welcome to yet another episode of… the tell-all chat show, Frightday Nights!" An animated ghoul announced from his coffin, popping the collar of his tailcoat whilst crooning into his microphone. "And now—the creep from the crypt, our master of scare-a-monies…. Ba-a-a-arf Biffman!"<p>

Barf threw up his hands as the audience cheered. Stood in the centre of the studio set, one hand clutching onto a microphone, the other wildly gesturing to the large coffin sat on its own stage to the left of the central seating platform, Barf flashed a movie star smile. "Well, who do we have with us today, Jack?"

Jack eagerly gripped onto the side of his coffin and threw out an arm in Lydia's currently off-camera direction. "Iiiiit's the new kid on the block, that gorgeous girl from the Other Side, the singing sensation: Lydia Deetz! Scum on down!"

The cameras panned around to focus on Lydia waving nervously as she sat inside the bubble-chair opposite the one Barf had settled into.  
>Sinking back into its plush interior, she tried not to look directly at the audience.<p>

Barf was leant forwards, fiddling with the visor sunglasses that looked as though they were welded to his face. "Thank you for being on the show, Lydia. We've met before, haven't we?"  
>Barf's chosen hair colour for this month was a blond colour so pale it was white. He slicked his hair back now absently. When he smiled, all Lydia could make out of his entire face was his large, yellow teeth.<p>

Lydia told herself to relax. This would have been so much easier if she'd had Beetlejuice with her. "Yes, Barf." She laughed unsteadily. "Uh, when I was about twelve, I think."  
>"The 24-Hour Gross Out." Barf sat back into his chair. "I remember it like it was yesterday. How things have changed since then, for <em>you<em> especially."  
>Lydia crossed her legs at the ankles and nodded. "Time marches on,"<p>

"So, as one of the living, what is your opinion of the Neitherworld?"

Lydia decided she rather liked this line of questioning. She let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding and brushed back some stray strands of her loose dark hair. "The Neitherworld is like a second home to me. I spend a lot of my free time here, or, well, _all_ of my free time here lately."

Barf didn't seem satisfied with this answer, but continued to smile broadly. "I suppose a lot of us are wondering why you're spending your life here, Miss Deetz. After all, you're a long time dead." He half-accused, half-asked. Barf wasn't to know that on the other side of town a particular Ghost with the Most was thinking the exact same thing at that instant.

Lydia hesitated. She'd never quite thought of it that way before. She was a living girl, spending all of her time in a land of the dead, one that she'd have no choice but to stay at eventually.  
>She thought of Beetlejuice. She thought of what her life would have been like had she not met him, thought of how she'd be now if she stopped seeing him at all. Did she think of it as a waste? No, not really.<p>

"I… I have something here that keeps me coming back. That's why."

Barf was intrigued. "A _mysterious_ way of putting it." He said, and the audience let out a unified 'ooo' sound. Lydia played along, and smirked mock-secretively, wiggling her eyebrows a little, to which Barf and Jack both laughed.

"Now," Barf said, and whipped out a CD. "Let's talk about your album…"

* * *

><p>Beetlejuice was in his bathroom, fastidiously combing his hair. Juicing up some gel, he began slicking some of the untamed areas back, but kept the small excuse for a fringe he had intact.<br>Dropping the comb, it clattered onto the washbasin beside a bottle of mouthwash (why did he _have _any of that anyway?) and a bar of soap.  
>He looked at them, before theatrically draping an arm across his eyes. "Alas, I can go no further," He drawled, then snorted loudly.<br>Yeah, right, as if he'd bother. He 'juiced up a wastepaper bin and swept the toiletries into it.

Stepping out into the Roadhouse's main living space, he checked the clock. Lydia should have been here by now, surely? The slimeballing tournament started in fifteen minutes.

"Be-etlejuice!" A disembodied, heavily accented voice cried.  
>"Whaaat?" He called back to Jacques, doubly making sure the cuffs of his sleeves were buttoned tight.<p>

The skeleton appeared from the corridor that lead to his area of the Roadhouse. "Are you going _ou_t?" He asked.

"Meant to be,"  
>"With Lydia?"<br>"Uh huh,"

Jacques paused. He teased at the moustache that had formed on his bony skull. Delicately, he asked: "Ah… Lydia came here late the other night, _non_?"  
>Beetlejuice had to think about that. The night he was sent home by that stuck-up record producer, Violet?<br>"Uh… yeah," He replied distractedly.

Jacques had removed his beret. He was fumbling with it. "Did she… get home o-_k_ay?"  
>Beetlejuice didn't understand what he was driving at. He didn't know that Jacques had heard Lydia slip inside the Roadhouse that night but hadn't heard her leave. He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, why the concern?"<p>

The skeleton let out a hearty and very false laugh. He shook his hands furiously. "Oh, _non_, _non, non, mon ami_. Just, uh, curious, ahah. What you two do is, uh, is your bus-i-ness." With that said, and seeing no rise out of Beetlejuice, he tried again. " So… you two are going on a date, _oui_?"

Beetlejuice's eyes widened. "Wuh? It's not a–! We're just–! Y'know…" He gibbered, feeling hot under the collar.  
>They were just going out as they always did, as they did as… as best friends. Or, well, whatever they were.<p>

Jacques took a minute to digest this information, drawing his own conclusion from the sentence Beetlejuice had left hanging. As if a question had been answered, though not the one he had asked, he nodded in understanding. "_Mes oui_, I see." Nevertheless, he scrutinised Beetlejuice's styled hair.

Feeling uncomfortable, Beetlejuice buttoned his suit jacket before hovering over to the door. "Look, uh, if she happens to show up here, just let her know I'm waiting there, okay?"

Jacques broke into a wide, uncomfortable smile. "_Oui_, will do. 'ave a good time, Be-etlejuice!"

Jacques waved the ghost out of the building, and closed the front door hard behind him. He almost collapsed back against it, letting out a deep breath.  
>Not longer after, Ginger appeared out of a trapdoor in the ceiling. She looked anxious.<br>"Well?" She prompted in a high, nasally voice. "What's goin' on with 'em, Jacques?"

"I do not think even they know," Jacques replied, before heading back to his room.

* * *

><p>Lydia was twirling her hair around her finger nervously.<p>

Barf had ceased asking her about her career and her music, and was now right back to grilling her for personal, juicy details. Having spent the past ten minutes answering a long line of these questions, Lydia could feel the time slipping right through her fingers.

"So, Lydia," Barf began in his sleazy tone of voice. "Tell us- is there someone special in your life right now?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Lydia saw Monitor glower.  
>Conspiratorially, she sat straighter in her seat. She could have said no. She didn't want to.<br>"Um, yes… when you put it that way, Barf."

A guy in the audience 'awww'd loudly, some people cheered, others responded with a gasp. Barf sat back. Lydia couldn't read his reaction at all.  
>"I'm sure we can all agree that whoever he is is a lucky man indeed." He said, to which a heckler cried out. What was said, Lydia couldn't make out.<p>

Now that that question was out of the way, Lydia hoped to relax. She found it impossible to when Barf pushed on.  
>"So, just what <em>do<em> you look for in a man?" He asked.

Lydia practically squirmed in her seat. _Oh, don't do this… _A part of her thought, while the other told her to just be honest. She fumbled with her fingers, then tried to smile confidently.  
>"Uh…" She thought long and hard. It wasn't an easy question to answer.<p>

Beetlejuice flashed inside her mind.  
><em>No. Don't think of him right now. <em>She told herself sternly, but it was no good, he appeared again. He was laughing.  
>Lydia found herself smiling automatically, and the words suddenly came thick and fast. "Sense of humour. Confidence. Unpredictability. Someone who doesn't take themselves too seriously." She paused, then relaxed. "I go for what's on the inside, not the outside. Someone who's seen the world, who knows it enough to take care of you; an- older guy."<p>

The same boy in the audience who'd whined out before began whining again.

Barf grinned theatrically. "Older men, eh? Wellll, it looks like I'm in with a shot, Jack."  
>"Right you are, Barf!" The co-host called back.<p>

Lydia started to laugh, and everybody followed. All except Monitor. Behind the cameras, he pulled out what looked like a Neitherworldian version of a cell phone and began to type out a message.

* * *

><p>Within a rundown apartment, amidst fog of cigarette smoke and girly chatter, a mobile yell-phone began to vibrate and bleep impatiently.<p>

Almost knocking over the contents of a glass on the side table, Dawn went to pick up the phone she'd left on the arm of the sofa. Someone had sent her a message, and her face crumpled up in disgust as she opened it up.  
>"Ugh, Monitor," Dawn groaned.<p>

The redhead beside her raised an eyebrow. "Huuuhh?"

Dawn dropped the phone back on the arm of the sofa and instead picked up her wine glass, sloshing around its unknown contents. "Some TV exec I had a deal with." She explained vaguely. "I said I wouldn't get involved again."

The girl beside her had once had long auburn, pony-tailed hair, but had since styled it to her shoulders and dyed it darker, a large fringe almost draping over one eye. Over the years of gradual decomposure her skin had progressively turned to a bleak purple-grey tone, and her attitude had gotten worse.

"You had your own show in the works, Dawn?" Ariel spoke in a slow, bored voice that was snooty and arrogant, and she ended her sentences with rising inflections. "Like, what did you have to do? Sleep with him?" She glanced at her manicured fingernails. Unlike most of the Neitherworld, Ariel intended to be as human and as normal as possible.

Dawn almost spat out her drink. She shook her head fervently. "Ugh, please, Ariel. Although… this _was_ almost worse. I was paid to flirt with some slob. I admit, it was quite enjoyable when I saw the look on this girl's face–"  
>Ariel looked up. "You? A honey trap?"<br>Dawn waved a partially-decomposed hand. "Whatever you want to call it. I said '_a_ slob', but maybe '_The_ Slob' is more appropriate,"

The ex-cheerleader sniffed and went to pick up her own glass. "Who was he?" She asked, acting on the desire to retain a conversation rather than actual curiosity.  
>"Beetlejuice," Dawn guffawed, loudly.<br>Ariel's hand missed her glass as she tensed. Her eyes widened. _Beetle…juice?  
><em>"You know? The Neitherworld's resident bad apple," Dawn was still laughing.

"I—know of him," Ariel replied vaguely, finally grabbing her drink from the side table. She began to sip it anxiously. She didn't know why, but she didn't think admitting she went to high school with the guy would steer the topic in a direction she wanted it to go.  
>"He's <em>gross<em>," Dawn said emphatically.  
>"Like, tell me about it,"<p>

"Ha, but this girl – the one they're pegging as the new celebrity of the moment? - flew off in a fit. Like she was _jealous_. Who could _want _someone like him?" Dawn retrieved her slowly-burning cigarette from the ashtray to her right, chuckling as she pressed it to her lips.  
>Ariel's eyebrows knotted together. "The breather?"<br>Dawn leant back into the sofa, again swirling the contents of her glass as she nodded. "That's her. I wanted to take the poor girl out for a drink on me and set her straight. Or, y'know, get her eyes tested. And her nose for that matter,"

Ariel was intrigued. From what she'd seen of the Deetz girl on television so far, she seemed to be quite beautiful, despite being darkly gothic in a morbid, human way that Ariel stamped as 'abnormal'. She _hated _abnormal.  
>Beetlejuice was linked with her? How?<br>She remembered his metallic prom date all those years ago. "Dawn, what _do_ you know about the breather? She's reall-y, well, real?"  
>"I think so. Why?"<p>

Ariel tried to act as though she wasn't digging. She feigned nonchalance. "Oh, like, isn't it—well, _odd_ there's a breather here?"  
>Dawn simply shrugged. "I'm sure it's happened before. Ghosts getting mixed up with the living and all that. It's outside of the usual parameters and totally against the rules but…"<br>"_But _despite the Bureau and case workers having something to say about it they're usually distracted," Ariel finished for her. She stood up, brushing out her long, flowing skirt, and decided to rewind the subject back to the beginning. "Hey, what did that Monitor guy want anyway?"

Dawn casually glanced back at her phone. "Just to try and head off Beetlejuice again. Monitor wants to keep the two of them apart, probably thinks he'd be bad for her image. He's got that right. I wouldn't be surprised if he's got someone tailing them everywhere they go."  
>She read the message out loud. "<em>'Neitherwoods Slimeballing Grounds. NOW.<em>' Yeah, no, it's not going to happen," She started to cackle. "Here, send him a reply." Dawn tossed Ariel the phone. "_'Drop dead. Again.'_ Ahahaha,"

Ariel wanted to laugh along with her, wanted to quash the annoying curiosity that bubbled inside of her.  
>She still hadn't gotten that Beetlejerk back for ruining her prom. She'd seen him in the interim years since, he jumping ahead of her in queues at the Neitherworld Counselling and Bureau Offices, she voting against him when he'd ran for mayor (which, sadly, hadn't stopped him), and desperately trying to avoid him at the Grossery Store.<br>Ariel sent Monitor the message, but also sent herself a message with Monitor's yell-phone number.

"Uh, Da-awn, I have, uh… some place to be," she said suddenly.

Dawn, who had started compulsively smoking her cigarette, turned. "So soon?"  
>"Yes. I, uh, am having surgery," Ariel lied, thinking fast, and motioned to her midriff. "It's important I stay in shape at my age, Dawn."<br>"'Your' age? Aren't you twenty-seven, for, well, forever?"  
>"And a half," Ariel accidentally let slip, and immediately regretted it as she disbanded at the waist and fell into her two halves. She slapped a palm to her face and let out a disgruntled breath before pulling herself back together.<p>

Upper half sat firmly on her hips, she straightened and held her head high. "I will catch up with you later, hon,"  
>Dawn blew out a trail of smoke and nodded once. "I'll hold you to that,"<p> 


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

Beetlejuice had been waiting outside of the slimeballing grounds for twenty minutes, and still Lydia hadn't appeared. Beyond the ticket booth behind him ghouls of all kinds were getting strapped up into their kit and arming themselves with slimeshooters.  
>Toeing the ground miserably, he let out a sigh. It was hard telling himself to be patient, he wasn't exactly a patient person. For the first time in his life he didn't even want to pull any pranks to pass the time.<br>Somewhere inside his jacket, a stowaway beetle squirmed. Almost on an afterthought he plucked it out and popped it into his mouth. His eyes never left the path that led to the city centre.

The ghoul manning the ticket booth finally decided to approach him. He was of middling height, dressed in a sheriff's uniform, and as he stepped over Beetlejuice turned.  
>"First tournament is heading out." The ticket officer said. He had a gruff disposition, but he sounded reasonable enough. He motioned over his shoulder towards the slimeballing party. "Y'joining?"<p>

Hands in his pockets, Beetlejuice tried to look cool. "Uh… I'll miss this one out." He said bravely.  
>The ticket officer nodded. "Mrm, probably best. In a few hours we have another tournie. Might be for more your kind of age group."<p>

Beetlejuice blinked back at the ghoul. Then, taking a long hard look at the crowd beyond the booth, he mentally noted that most were around Lydia's age, give or take a few years.  
><em>Waitaminute, is he calling me <em>old_?  
><em>He turned beetroot-red in the face. "Hey, just what are you implying?" He snapped, folding his arms.

The marshal's expression was neutral, indifferent. "Nothing at all, sir," He said in a tone that was neither polite, nor impolite, before leaving to referee the tournament.  
>Staring after his retreating back, a trio of snakes appeared out of the crown of Beetlejuice's head and stuck out their tongues before sniffing angrily and disappearing back where they'd come from.<p>

Soon, the not-so-far-off sound of guns popping, slime-bombs exploding and raucous laughter sailed over the field outside of the slimeballing grounds teasingly.  
>Beetlejuice turned and began to pace the field, occasionally glancing off into the Neitherwoods, then off to the long winding path that led to the city. Eventually he simply stopped and stared at the horizon. He felt so low he wanted the ground to swallow him up.<p>

"Where are ya, Lyds?"

* * *

><p>"… And once again, thank you, Lydia, for appearing on our show,"<p>

Barf was winding the program down to a close and Lydia, relieved beyond all comprehension, managed a genuine smile. "Thank you for having me. It's been a pleasure to be here,"  
>The audience erupted in applause as she walked off of the set, before Barf and Jack finished the show with their usual dramatic exit and the studio set plunged into darkness.<p>

Without hesitation, Lydia rushed to the dressing room she'd been loaned, running as fast as her feet could carry her. Having reached it, her hand moving to grasp the door handle, she practically jumped out of her skin when a heavy hand fell on her shoulder.  
>"Yeeee!" She yelped, before whirling around.<br>Monitor towered over her, eyes tired, looking a little firmer than usual. How he'd managed to move so fast, Lydia didn't know.

"What's the hurry?" He tested, smiling an unpleasant smile. "Have some place to be?"  
>Lydia's cheeks felt hot. Her throat was dry. "Ah… maybe. Do you have the time, Monitor?"<br>The NTV employee held out an arm, a large watch adorning the wrist. A regular human wouldn't have been able to understand the time from it, it had extra hands and the numbers were all over the place with some anomalies thrown in for good measure. Lydia, however, understood it fine. She was late.

"Fuck!" She cursed, throwing the door to the dressing room open. Monitor staggered back. Coming from a girl who was usually so soft-spoken and polite, the expletive was unexpected to say the least.  
>Lydia threw herself into the room and gathered together the few belongings she'd brought with her, panting for breath. "I need to go, Monitor! Right now!"<p>

Guilt coiled within her, almost flipping her stomach upside down. _He's going to think you stood him up, Lydia Deetz. _A cold, unsympathetic voice inside of her head told her. _Poor Beetlejuice, how could you leave him high and dry?_

_I didn't mean to! I didn't _want _to! _

Monitor, having not received the response he'd wanted from Dawn, had no choice but to escort Lydia towards the exit. Shepherding her down a labyrinth of corridors, she was soon sprinting on ahead of him. He was about to give chase when his yell-phone began to ring in his pocket. Withdrawing it discretely, he accepted the call before he'd even thought to look at the caller ID. "Ahuhuh, hello?"

For a moment there was simply white-noise. Then: "… _Is this 'Monitor'?_"  
>The caller was female, but he didn't recognise the voice. He stopped, eyes turning in the direction of the phone pressed to the side of one of his screens. "Ahuh, speaking. How did you get this number? Uhuhh, it's a private–"<br>"From Dawn," The girl explained shortly. She had a voice that grated on Monitor's nerves. "She won't be helping you."

Monitor frowned. Up ahead, Lydia was glancing around frantically for their driver. "Ohoh… I expected as much. I hoped I could tempt her, ahuh, if I raised the offer?"  
>"You can't, but <em>I'm<em> interested."  
>Monitor's frown quickly turned to a sneer. "Ohoh, what an unexpected surprise. Good, good. I pay handsomely, Miss….?"<br>"Cartwheel. Ariel Cartwheel."

"Well, Miss Cartwheel, I need you to distract Beetlejuice. Get him away from there, make it look like–"  
>"Like he's stood her up?" Ariel asked.<p>

Monitor relished this moment, as he watched Lydia desperately latch onto their chauffeur.  
>"Ahuh, nooo, no, it'll be too late for that." He spoke into the mobile phone. "I just want them apart, understood?" With that, he hung up.<p>

Lydia was following the chauffeur to one of two exits. Trying to buy Ariel some time, Monitor dashed over. "Ah, Lydia, not that door!" He cried.  
>Lydia spun on her heel, breathless. "Huh?"<p>

"It'll take much too long, you'll be pounced on, ahuh. This way. This stage door–" Monitor began to lead her and their driver to the second exit around the corner. Throwing the door open, he pushed Lydia out into the blinding sunlight before she could make sense of what was happening.

"Wuh? _Monitor_?"  
>He slammed the door behind her.<br>The light was so intense, so _white_, that it burned Lydia's vision. She tried covering her eyes with her arm but it did no good, she couldn't block it out. She soon realised it was because the light wasn't coming from just one direction, but in a semi-circle all around her. After-images burned into her retinas, erratic flash after flash went off in her face whilst the loud, unmistakable sound of camera shutters assaulted her ears. Lydia tried to see through the constant explosion of light but found it impossible. Instead she tried to fight her way through it, realisation dawning on her as she began to make out the sound of her name being chanted.  
>Monitor had thrown her into a sea of paparazzi.<p>

* * *

><p>It wasn't far from Dawn's apartment to the Neitherwoods, which was lucky for Ariel – being a ghost that didn't possess the same kind of magic that Beetlejuice did.<br>She reached the slimeballing grounds within good time, but her mark wasn't at the ticket booth when she got there.  
><em>Shit! <em>She mentally cursed, wringing her hands together as she began storming across the field, only to catch sight of Beetlejuice heading back towards the city.

Ariel thought about doing a wide circuit of the area so as to come in the opposite direction and run into him face-to-face, but she was much too impatient for that. Instead she took after him. When she was within two feet of him, she slowed her pace and coughed emphatically, hoping to grab his attention.

Beetlejuice seemed to flinch before he excitedly whipped around. His face fell when he saw that it was Ariel and not Lydia.  
>The disappointment on his face made Ariel angry, but she masked it well. She waved with her fingertips daintily. "Well, he-ello and colour me surprised. I thought it might be you,"<br>Beetlejuice looked very tired, but also very confused. "Wuh?"

"Fancy running into _you _here, Beetlejuice."  
>He blinked slowly, taking a moment to process her face. "… Ariel?"<p>

_Of course it's me. How could anyone forget this face? _The ex-cheerleader thought with some degree of vanity. She tossed her hair, smiling in what she hoped was an amiable manner. "So you _do _remember. How have the years treated you?"

Beetlejuice blinked again. He looked over his left shoulder, then his right, and then finally looked all around. After that, he gestured to himself incredulously. "You… You're talking to me?"  
>Ariel mentally scoffed. <em>And so you should be surprised, Beetlepunk.<em> Out loud she said: "Of course, silly,"

Beetlejuice's eyebrows raised in scepticism. "But… you _hated _me in high school." He objected.  
>Ariel gritted her teeth before feigning a grin. She hadn't thought it'd be this hard just to start up a conversation. "Oh, come on, we're both adults now."<br>_Doesn't mean anything's changed… _Beetlejuice thought to himself, though not too distrustfully. He found himself grinning smugly despite himself.

Ariel put a hand on her hips and rested the other on her collarbone, posing. "So what are you doing here, _a-_lone?"

Alone. Ouch. Beetlejuice opened his mouth, then shut it before he could begin. Not wanting to look like the class clown who'd never been able to get a girl, he thought on his feet, and spoke fast before he could change his mind. "I'm waiting for my _girl_friend."  
>Ariel raised an eyebrow.<br>Beetlejuice, himself, felt beads of sweat form on his brow. Uncomfortable, he folded his arms. "Uh, yeah, that's right, that's what she is, ahuh."

Ariel couldn't help but dig. She let out a tinkle of laughter. "Not a robotic one this time, I hope? Aahahahaha."  
>Now that was one memory Beetlejuice hadn't wanted unearthed. He glowered.<br>"Aha, ohh, I'm _tea_-sing." Ariel giggled. She tried to paper over the insult, batting her eyelashes and closing the gap between them. "But your girl is sooo lucky, getting to be with the- ha – Ghost with the Most."

Beetlejuice practically stumbled with surprise. "Really?" He exclaimed eagerly. Then, remembering who Ariel was and what she had once done to him, he decided to change the subject. "I mean… uh… uh. So. You see Squid lately?  
>"He let himself <em>go<em>." Ariel said, before leaning in, narrowing her eyes flirtatiously. "But you? Wow. If I'd have known you were going to turn out like this I wouldn't have been so hard on you at Ghoulliard. I hear they're having a reunion next month. Why don't we go together?"

"Actually, I'm taking Lyds." Beetlejuice replied without hesitation, before he'd even realised he'd said it.  
>Ariel, who'd just been reminding herself to pick up a bar of soap to wash her mouth out with, latched onto his reply. She grinned mischievously. "That your girlfriend?"<br>Beetlejuice didn't know what story or excuse to use. He juggled with possible responses for a moment, tongue-tied. "Yes. No. I mean, yes. Uh. Well."

Ariel's smirk intensified. "The same one that's stood you up?"  
>"She hasn't stood me up!" Beetlejuice cried.<br>The ex-cheerleader looked around pointedly, before looking back at him. "She hasn't arrived ye-et."

Beetlejuice winced. "S-She will." He said, but with less conviction than he felt. He squirmed uncomfortably. "Lyds wouldn't leave me hanging." In a flash he was hanging on the end of a noose that seemed to be suspended in mid air.  
>Ariel tried very hard not to look disgusted. <em>He really hasn't changed. Yucghh.<br>_

"Well, if she stands you up at the prom, I might have to step in. What do you think? Prom King and the one who was _meant _to be Prom Queen?" She stepped closer, her hand reaching for his tie. Before she could get there, Beetlejuice took a calculated step back.  
>"Look, Ariel, babes, I 'preciate the sentiment but I could really do without a walk down memory lane." A street sign appeared beside them, reading 'MEMORY LANE, THIS WAY' with an arrow demonstrating the direction. It disappeared just as quickly as his 'juiced hangman's noose had done.<p>

Ariel's eyes widened. _He's telling me to go away? HE'S telling ME?  
><em>"Beetlejuice, you're such a-!" She began, ready to blow her top. Then, calming herself and taking a deep breath, she let out a giggle. "Ahohh. You're such a _kidder_."  
>He shrugged. "Usually." Then, after deliberating something, Beetlejuice finally cocked a thumb over his shoulder. "Look, it's been a slice, but... I gotta go. Smell ya later,"<p>

Ariel made to object, but it was useless. He disappeared with a bang before her eyes.  
>The redhead stared at the space he had occupied only moments before, then finally let out an angry scream she'd been holding in for the past five minutes, tugging at her hair.<br>He was more unbearable than he had been in high school! More unbearable than she'd remembered!  
>Wherever he'd zapped himself to, she hoped it was far enough away from that Lydia Ditz singer, or… whatever her name was. After all, Ariel's time was money, and <em>that<em> had been time she would've rather spent watching paint dry.  
>If Monitor didn't cough up any money for that small service, she was going to have something to say about it.<p>

* * *

><p>It had taken Lydia the best part of twenty minutes to wrestle her way out of the thick crowd of paparazzi and raving fans outside of the studio. Her driver had eventually managed to drop her off at the edge of the Neitherwoods, and she was now bounding across the open field that bordered it towards the slimeballing grounds. Her heart hammered miserably in her chest, her breath coming thick and fast as she glanced around in desperation. "Crap, crap! Beej? Beetlejuice!" She called, finally making it to the ticket booth. One thing was certain though, he was nowhere to be seen.<p>

The ticket officer was stood behind the booth's counter. Leaning towards the circular hole in the glass so his voice could travel further, he raised a hand. "Can I help ya, miss?"  
>Lydia took a moment to catch her breath, before placing her hands on the small expanse of counter that sat on her side of the booth. "Yes! Have you seen–?"<br>"Guy in stripes about six foot tall? Blond, green teeth, smells like a garbage can?" He said for her.  
>Lydia wasn't used to other people describing Beetlejuice. When the ticket officer put it that way, he didn't really have much going for him at all. "Uhh… y-yeah… that's him,"<p>

The ticket officer appraised her for a moment, as though comparing Beetlejuice and Lydia side by side. Whatever he'd been expecting Beetlejuice's date to be like, this wasn't it. "He was gone by the time I got back from marshalling the last tournament. Stood up."  
>Lydia winced, her eyes stinging. "Do you have any idea where he went?" She asked, hanging her had.<p>

"Can't help y'there." The marshal shrugged.  
>Lydia let out a breath through her nose, her hand slipping from the counter. Before she could walk away, the ticket officer snapped his fingers. "Say, haven't I seen you on television?"<br>Lydia twitched. Today's television appearance was the reason she'd been late in the first place.  
>"Uh, yeah. I'm Lydia Deetz," She said, trying her best to smile up at the man.<br>He didn't seem all that star struck.

"The singer?"  
>"That's me,"<br>"Hm. Well, when your schedule quietens down a bit be sure to come back here. Have a tournament on the house,"  
>Warmed by this, Lydia smiled gratefully. "Thank you,"<p>

She stepped back, readjusting the strap of her satchel, before beginning to head back across the field.  
>She'd been set on returning to the Roadhouse when she remembered that she'd asked Beetlejuice to take her to the Freaky Eyescream Shop.<br>It was a long shot, but she wondered if she might just run into him there.

* * *

><p>The Freaky Eyescream Shop was a dome-shaped glass building sat on a ridge just outside of the city centre. At this time of day it was busy, but not uncomfortably so; every booth was filled with small groups and couples, all talking at a tolerable level. The queue at the ice-cream counter was moving fast when Lydia walked in, but not fast enough that she didn't have to squeeze between packed-in bodies to get through the front door.<p>

Looking around, she was relieved to find her instinct had been right. Beetlejuice was sat alone in one of the booths on the far side of the room, one of his feet propped up on the table. He was resting his head in his palm, and looking gloomily out of the window.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, he turned and instantly his face shone with relief.  
>"Lyds?" He grinned up at her.<br>Lydia had worried herself close to tears. She placed her hands down on the table, still breathless from running all the way from the grounds. "B. J., I am _so _sorry. I lost track of time, Monitor had me working nonstop, I got caught in a crowd and I just–"  
>There was no resentment in his face, nothing to suggest he felt he'd been 'stood up' at all. If anything, he looked glad. "No sweat, babes," He said smoothly.<p>

Lydia caught her breath as she slid onto the leather bench opposite him. "I didn't mean to do that to you. _You_, of all people."  
>Beetlejuice just smiled. "Yer here now, babes. Wanna share an ice-cream?"<br>Lydia exhaled deeply in relief and relaxed back into her seat, smiling. "Yes. Please,"

The ghost got up from their booth and headed over to the counter, whistling and jangling change in his pocket as he went. Lydia watched him go, still feeling guilty, if not cross with Monitor for pushing her out of the wrong exit. When Beetlejuice returned with one of the house special 'sundaes for two' – a relatively plain one since some of the Neitherworld toppings were too much even for Lydia's tastes – they both dug in happily.

The first bite of that cooling ice-cream was so relaxing that Lydia practically collapsed back into her seat. "Ah… worth it," She hummed, reclining and shutting her eyes.

Around three spoonful's worth of icecream, Beetlejuice finally managed: "So what did Monitor want ya for?"

Lydia stopped. The ice-cream in her mouth had the same effect as an ice cube slipping down her back, and it sent a stinging, angry pain all the way up to her head. She swallowed thickly, opening her eyes. "Didn't he… tell you?" She asked hesitantly.  
>Beetlejuice gulped down his mouthful of icecream. "Tch! Are you kidding? I haven't heard a <em>peep<em> out of him." He sniffed.

Lydia frowned darkly. Black rage took over the guilt.  
>Monitor had <em>lied<em> to her. He hadn't told Beetlejuice where she'd be at all, and he'd probably sabotaged her exit from the studio on purpose.  
>"I see." She said through pursed lips. Monitor had just made it to the top of her blacklist.<br>Not wanting to take it out on Beetlejuice, she composed herself as best she could. "I was having a chat with Barf Biffman. Live. You know? Frightday Nights?"

At this, Beetlejuice's jaw dropped onto the table and shook it enough to topple the umbrella off of the top of their sundae.  
>"And I <em>missed <em>it?" He cried.  
>"I thought you knew," Lydia said, half-bitterly and half-sadly.<p>

_Monitor is _so _dead_, she thought as she spooned some more ice-cream into her mouth.

Beetlejuice groaned and dropped his spoon onto the table top. "Mm. Wish I had," He mumbled. His striped tongue slipped out between his lips and lapped at some of the melted cream on the rim of the sundae glass.

After a brief period of silence, Beetlejuice scratched behind his ear, trying to decide whether or not to break the tense atmosphere. Eventually he shrugged and lowered his propped up foot to the floor, tapping his heels together unconsciously. "I, uh, ran into Ariel earlier. The cheerleader I went to high school with?" He prompted, not sure if Lydia remembered the story he'd told her about his high school prom all those years ago.

"The one who stuffed the ballot box to humiliate you?" Lydia replied. She tried to forget that Ariel was the girl he'd _wanted _to take to the prom.

Beetlejuice hesitated. His eyes widened, then narrowed suspiciously. "How'd y'know about that?" He asked. After all, that hadn't been in the version he'd told her.  
>Lydia smirked. "Ha. Don't spin a tale when one of your tenants was your closest friend in high school, Beej. The truth comes out eventually,"<br>_Dammit Jacques,_ Beetlejuice pouted, before resting his head in his palm, bottom lip stuck out childishly. "Yeah. Her," He admitted.  
>"And?"<p>

He let out a 'pfft' sound before straightening and gripping onto the lapels of his suit. "She was _all over _me," He said smugly.  
>Lydia flinched. "O-Oh?"<br>"Yep. Still got it," He reclined, folding his arms behind his head for support and resting his booted feet on the circular support beneath the table.  
>When he looked over at her, however, Lydia's dark eyes glittered so scornfully that he yelped.<p>

"Oh, come on, Lyds! I wouldn't touch her with a ten foot pole!" He objected, accidentally 'juicing a pole of said length into his hand. Holding it horizontally, it was only seconds before an attendant walked into it and spilled a tray full of icecreams and sodas as he tripped.  
>Beetlejuice's mouth formed a small 'o' shape. "Oops," The pole vanished with a 'poof'.<p>

Lydia couldn't help but frown.  
>"I hope not," She said as jokingly as she could, before glancing out of the window tiredly.<p>

_Here we go again... Some other woman gets preference, just like at the SOMFN event._ She thought with some degree of sadness, scrubbing at a speck of dirt on the window pane._ Some 'date'_…

Beetlejuice plucked up the sundae, made to down its remaining contents, then stopped.  
>He didn't know what to read into her reaction, but even being as idiotic as he was, he still he felt as though he'd upset her in some way. That- that made him ashamed.<br>"Lyds?"

She was slow to respond. "Mm?"

Silence.  
>Putting the sundae glass back down, Beetlejuice scrubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand. Finally, he said: "Do ya... really have to go back to college?"<p>

Lydia blinked. She turned to look at him. "What?"

Beetlejuice shrugged, hunched over in his seat, his hands interlocking while his red-tipped thumbs twiddled together anxiously. "Let's face it, ya don't need to be taught to be any better at photography." He tried to laugh off. Then he cleared his throat and averted his eyes. "And… when yer at college- I don't get to see ya…"

Lydia's heart swelled.  
>"I can't <em>not <em>go back, B. J.. Mom and Dad have paid for my tuition, they'd kill me if I didn't–"  
>"… I miss ya, Lyds,"<p>

Lydia's pupils dilated. Her heart didn't just swell, it flipped.  
>She reached over the table and placed her hand on his. "I'm right here, silly," She said affectionately.<p>

Beetlejuice's hands disentangled. One of them came up to his forehead, elbow resting on the table, while the other turned palm-up. Lydia began tracing her fingertips lightly over its surface. It dawned on her that he had quite nice hands, for a dead guy. They weren't calloused or rough, and his fingers were long and slender; what Delia might call 'piano fingers'.

Beetlejuice shook his head. "No, I mean, I miss ya when you're gone. A hell of a lot. Heck, I miss ya even when we're apart for half a day. I dunno what to _do _with myself; know whut I mean?"  
>"I'm sure you find something to do," Lydia half-laughed.<br>"Well, yeah, usually, but there's always somethin' I'd rather do,"  
>"Which is?"<p>

He looked up. Beetlejuice was no romantic, he was just bluntly honest. When he spoke, there were no dramatics, no sappiness. It was just a simple, blunt admission. "I'd… rather spend time with you,"

If he hadn't had Lydia's heart before, he'd had it then.  
>Her fingers stopped tracing the lines on his palm, in fact, her whole body froze. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling.<p>

_I can't believe he just said that_, Lydia thought, dazed. She wanted to say how sweet that was, wanted to probe deeper, but she didn't. If she did, he'd then realise it himself and take back everything he'd just said. Instead she smiled warmly. "I feel the same way, Beej."

Beetlejuice smiled tiredly. He seemed to age a little in that moment. "I don't wanna stop ya living your life though, babes. So, just… forget I said anythin',"  
>"Oh no, you don't." Lydia took ahold of his hand and squeezed. "I know that some people think I'm strange for hanging around with you, for hanging around in the Neitherworld, for not 'living my life' but… this is the way I want to <em>live<em> my life, B. J.."

He raised his head. "It is?" He said, almost over-eagerly, before settling down and nodding. "I mean… 'course, it is. I'm one in a million,"  
>He squeezed her hand back.<p>

_Now's your chance!_ Lydia's conscience yelled suddenly, making her jump. _Tell him how you feel!_

"Beetlejuice…" She began.

"Yeah, Lyds?"

_Now. Do it now, before you lose your nerve!  
><em>"I–"

_I love you. Just say it. I. Love. You._

"I…" The words stuck in her throat. She began to clam up, and she snapped her hand away from his before he could feel how much she was sweating. Instead she grabbed the sundae glass, and looked down into it. It was empty.

Beetlejuice's expression was one of confusion. "You… want another?" He motioned to the empty glass she was brandishing.

_No. No, you don't want an icecream, you want _him. _Tell him, Lydia! Tell him you're a woman now, a woman with feelings. Tell him you're not just a kid anymore, tell him you want to be more than friends! Ask him how he _feels.

She opened her mouth. Closed it. After a moment she lowered the sundae glass. She nodded slowly. With that one action, all her strength left her, and she deflated. "Sure… Another small one couldn't hurt,"

But it did hurt, because each bite of that second ice-cream reminded her how much of a coward she was.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Beetlejuice's height seems to vary episode to episode (but then, so does his weight, which seems to constantly yo-yo.) I've gone by his mugshot from the episode _Don't Beetlejuice and Drive_, where he's clearly around six foot (though seven-foot in the last few minutes, but I presume that's because he's hovering)_._


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

Lydia's confidence had been knocked for days since the failed 'date'. During that time she'd avoided Monitor like the plague, too afraid of what she'd say or do if she ran into him, and had tried to spend as much of her free time back home, on her side, as possible. Today, however, she was back in the Neitherworld, and by royal request.

The two grand halls of Prince Vince's castle were crammed full of bodies. Large, tent-sized umbrellas had been erected at every six-foot interval, and the party guests were huddled beneath these so as to avoid the rain from the storm cloud that followed Vince into every room.

It was late in the evening, and the weather outside was bleak. Doomie honked sadly as he dropped Beetlejuice and Lydia off at the castle gates, before driving off in the hope of finding a sheltered place to park. It looked like it was about to storm.  
>Lydia was wearing a white dress that was part-slip, part-ball gown and part-Victorian wench. In retrospect, it hadn't been one of her best ideas. Her hair was loose and tumbling to her chest, backcombed at the top and curled beneath her ears. She'd painted black ghoulish rings around her eyes as she had done at the fashion show, and was wearing the anniversary necklace Beetlejuice had bought her.<br>Beetlejuice, on the other hand, naturally hadn't dressed for the occasion.

When they reached the main doors, one of the many retainers that worked within the castle looked down at the guest list in his grasp, wrinkling his nose. With a quill, he checked against two names, and tipped his head in the direction of the entrance hall. "May I announce the entrance of Miss Lydia Deetz and, uh, Beetle…juice." He called out, but no one of note paid any heed.

The two stepped inside, cautiously at first, glancing heavenwards to check for any signs of a raincloud. Content that the weather, in this hall at least, was stable, they relaxed. Prince Vince was in another area of the castle.  
>"You find ol' prince-a-rino, babes. I'll swipe us some phlegmonade," Beetlejuice said, having already caught sight of the bar-stand despite the throngs of people.<br>Somehow the aforementioned beverage didn't quite appeal to his living companion. "Ha! _You _have the phlegmonade, Beej. I'll take a Severed-Up if there's one going," Lydia grinned, socking him playfully on the arm.  
>Beetlejuice gave her a thumbs-up before disappearing into the crowd.<p>

As soon as he left her, Lydia exhaled through her nose heavily and wrapped her arms around herself, glancing around at the inside of the castle.  
>It had taken all of her strength these past few days to pretend that what had happened at the Freaky Eyescream Shop between them was something that wasn't worth worrying about. So what if she hadn't had the nerve to tell him how she felt, and so what if he was too naïve to notice it for himself? That didn't mean she should give up.<p>

Lydia pressed on towards the double-doors that lead to the throne room in order to search for the prince. She didn't get far enough. Before long there was a crash of thunder overhead and the rain began to pour. Vince had just stepped into this room.  
>At first Lydia thought nothing of it, before she quickly began to criticise her own wardrobe. Why had she chosen to wear white, today of all days? She thought fast, and dashed over to the nearest umbrella.<br>"'xcuse me, sorry, lady in a white dress!" She excused, a little more obnoxiously than she meant to, before plucking the umbrella out of the stand. The crowd of people who had been gathered under it whined and mumbled angrily in its absence, before crab walking down to the next one.  
>Holding the umbrella over her head before the rain could do too much damage to her reputation, Lydia gave thanks that her dress was at least thick and multi-layered.<p>

Turning, she found herself bumping into the prince.

"Oof!"  
>The two rebounded off one another, the heavy umbrella almost causing Lydia to topple over. When the prince straightened up, catching his bearings, he soon realised who he'd run into. His face lifted, though only by a few millimetres. "Lydia!" He cried.<br>"Prince Vince!" Lydia brushed herself down. This was the first time she'd seen the prince in almost five or six years. He'd aged a little since the last time she'd seen him, but not much. He looked around fifteen, and probably always would now. He was still as morose as ever, with large, bruised bags under his eyes. His face was worn, lips set in a permanent frown, his eyes large and solemn.  
>"Happy birthday!" She smiled once she'd gotten over the initial shock of seeing him. She shifted the umbrella over to her other hand.<p>

Vince managed to smile in return, but it looked painful. "Oh, how I _missed_ you, sweet Lydia. My life has been so utterly barren and colourless without your light to fill it. For the longest time I have felt as though I've been lost in a dark, dark room, drowning in my sorrow. After word reached me of how you had blossomed into a star I've been so _eager_ to see you again,"

Lydia had forgotten how much the prince talked. It struck her how he always sounded like a tragic Shakespearean character performing a monologue in his final scene.

When she'd been a dark, gothic child she had thought that that was what she would want in a boyfriend: somebody emotional, gothic, morbid. Now as a dark, gothic woman she still liked the morbid and the abnormal, but Prince Vince was, well… Prince Vince was a _bummer_. He could make her laugh, yes, but… not in a constant way. Not in a way that made her feel like life was just a joke, a party, a wild ride. Not like Beetlejuice could. She and the prince had little to nothing in common.

Lydia smiled patiently. "It's good to see you again, your highness,"

The prince's dark hair was plastered to his face with rain. For a moment, however, it seemed the poor weather was easing. "I have written a poem for you!" He declared, fishing around in the pocket of his waistcoat.  
>Lydia's upturned lips twitched. <em>Oh, dear God, no<em>…  
>She marvelled internally at how this once might have excited her. Whilst such a declaration was flattering, it was totally unnecessary.<br>"You don't say?" She prompted, feigning enthusiasm whilst struggling to contain a strong feeling of dread.  
>Her prompting wasn't even required, for within the next breath the prince began. Shifting position into a dramatic, swooning pose he cast one arm out and draped the other across his face.<p>

"_My sorrow, my pain, they carve paths deep,  
><em>_Night after night I can do nothing but weep,  
><em>_A bright star so high– just to reach out and grasp,  
><em>_Yet I, a dark cloud, am tormented– and outcast.  
><em>_I feel that I am running, screaming, in circles,  
><em>_Wherefore art thou my Juliet? My Lenore? My –"  
><em>"–marbles?"

Prince Vince's eyes snapped open and he blinked fervently at the interruption.

Beetlejuice was stood with a hi-ball glass in one hand and a can in the other, expression bemused, if not a little vexed. Lydia rounded on him instantly. "There you are! I was wondering where you'd gotten to," She smiled. She didn't know it, but her voice had been laced with enough sweetness to wound Prince Vince, but not enough to cause Beetlejuice to break out in a rash.

The pinstriped ghost grinned back at her. "Place is packed, babes. Had to fight my way through." With his hands full of drinks, he struggled to 'juice something up to illustrate his point. Instead, he simply handed Lydia her can of Severed-Up.  
>One hand now free, he raised it in a salute. "Yo, prince-a-rino!"<br>Vince tried to smile but his face wouldn't co-operate. He looked positively wretched. "Oh. Hello, Beetlejuice,"

The ghost snorted, pointing a red-tipped finger ceiling-ward. "Lovely weather we're havin', ain't it?"  
>Lydia tried very hard to supress a giggle, though Prince Vince didn't otherwise react.<p>

After slurping back some of his phlegmonade, feeling the conversation curl up and die around him, Beetlejuice nudged Lydia gently with his elbow. "So, when are you up, Lyds?"  
>This seemed to snap the prince out of his reverie. "Oh, yes! Lydia, you'll be in the throne room hall. Everything has been prepared for you, I hope you find it suitable,"<br>Lydia simply nodded, pulling the ring-pull off of her drink-can to get to the bubbling contents inside. "I'm sure it'll be fine. Thanks, Prince Vince,"

Vince tried to share a smile with her, like the smile she'd just shared with Beetlejuice. Instead his lips fidgeted into a twisted expression, something like a confused sneer, so he quickly gave up. He was sure she wouldn't return it anyway.  
>Sighing, he motioned towards the throne room behind him. "You'll find the buffet is arranged out there too. I'm afraid I wasn't quite sure what everyone would like. There's strawberry snortcakes, punk-in-pie, macaroni-and-sleaze…"<br>Beetlejuice looked at Lydia and winked. "All our favourites, babes,"  
>"Mmmhm," She hummed back as he draped an arm around her shoulders.<p>

Prince Vince stared at the two of them, and some weighty realisation seemed to suddenly dawn on him. The storm cloud above thickened, and it began to hail.

* * *

><p>Much later, on a platform near the prince's throne and beneath a pitched marquee, Lydia was winding down her performance. She wasn't aware that twenty minutes ago the doorman had announced the arrival of NTV executive, Mr Monitor, because if she had heard she would have had something to say about it.<p>

Monitor had sidled through the crowd, two screens on the look out for Lydia, two on the look out for the prince. He'd finally spotted Vince stood to the left beneath the platform on which Lydia was singing, and he'd tried hard to avoid Lydia's line of sight as he'd crept up on him.  
>Approaching the prince now, Monitor smiled broadly. He had a glass of champagne in his hand, but it was more of a prop than a real beverage. "Your highness," He greeted tactfully.<br>Prince Vince turned, dark eyes wide.

"Ahuhuhuh, what a wonderful party, your majesty!" Monitor declared, gesturing around at the packed hall. "We thank you for letting us televise this event, ahuh. What do you think of Lydia's performance so far?"  
>The prince looked back at Lydia for a moment, growing distant and forlorn. "She's very talented,"<br>Monitor, reading all he needed to know in the prince's glance, pounced. "Ahuhh, you and Lydia would make a very _popular _couple, your highness," He mentioned casually.

Prince Vince started. He turned back to face Monitor, his face paling, before his expression grew all the more solemn. The rain began to come down harder, so hard that the linen gazebo over Lydia began to bow under the weight of the water it had already gathered.  
>Vince wrapped his arms around himself. "Alas. My advances have been crushed once before. I fear that Lydia's heart is simply not in it. She is a desert rose, and I am a–"<br>One of Monitor's screens rolled its eyes. He cut the prince off quickly, not wanting any indecision to develop. "Are you so sure? Why don't you proposition her tonight, your majesty? Ahuh, in front of _all _these people. It'll make the ratin– I- I mean it'll be _very _romantic,"

Prince Vince sniffed, wiping eyes that were not yet wet with tears. "Y-You believe so?"  
>Monitor grinned. "Why, who could say no to a prince, your highness?"<p>

Vince remained quiet for a long pause that began to worry Monitor. He was right to worry, because the next thing Vince said was: "But… what about Beetlejuice?"  
>If Monitor had had hair, he'd have pulled it out. Why would Vince have any need to ask that unless they were acting a certain way that made him presume something about their relationship?<br>"_What about him_?" He demanded more loudly than he meant to.  
>A nearby palace guard eyed him threateningly. Calming himself down, Monitor frantically began readjusting his tie. "Ahuh, I mean, th-they're just friends, your highness,"<p>

Prince Vince cupped his chin.  
>Friends or not, he still remembered a time when Beetlejuice tried to ruin a date of theirs, never mind the fact that the two of them were practically inseparable. But… if Monitor said they were just friends…<p>

Lydia had stopped singing, and Vince's guests were applauding. One of his advisors stepped over to him, instructing that he should mount the platform and say a few words. Prince Vince let himself be led, sombre and deep in thought.  
>Stood on the far edge of the fabric tent, Lydia stepped towards the back so as to be out of the limelight. Vince took centre stage.<p>

"My loyal subjects, I thank you most graciously for joining in with my celebrations. As some of you may know, this…" His breath hitched. "… this is not a real birthday, for I—I no longer age… a-and shall not… f-forevermore." He pulled out a handkerchief and began to blubber. Thunder clapped overhead. "Fifteen… for an _eternity_. Snatched before my time, never to see my mature years–"  
>"Only the good die young, your majesty," An advisor tried to salvage the speech, to which the whole crowd echoed in agreement, all except Beetlejuice, who snorted into his half-empty glass. <em>Please. Mom would'a said that <em>I _died young, but that didn't, and doesn't, make _me_ good._

A thoroughbred man next to him, who'd been fighting for ample position beneath the umbrella since Lydia first began singing, finally had the tenacity to knock Beetlejuice out into the rain.  
>"Hey!" Beetlejuice snapped.<br>The man's trophy wife tittered, and he, in turn, seemed to brandish her as though she were the be-all and end-all of the universe. "Oh. Sorr-y." He said. It was clear he didn't mean it. "But Kitty and I simply _must_ have room to breathe,"

Beetlejuice glowered. "Yer dead, y'don't need to breathe," He barked, before raising his hands into claws. "Look, bud, why don't you just _chill out_?" Firing his 'juice at the holier-than-thou couple, in the next instant the two were locked inside of an ice cube, petrified. Beetlejuice cackled almost madly, clutching his stomach and sloshing the remains of his drink across the floor.  
>"Talk about giving someone the cold shoulder!" He cried, only to laugh harder.<p>

Trying to reign himself in, he zapped himself to a different umbrella stand, this one even closer to the stage than the last. Still chuckling under his breath, Beetlejuice stepped back. He soon found his eyes drawn to Lydia.

He'd always felt a peculiar envy whenever she was alone with the prince, and he wasn't sure whether it was disconcerting to know that he still felt that way. In fact, more recently the envy was even stronger.  
>Beetlejuice was happy to note that, even though the prince was centre of attention, Lydia wasn't looking at him, but was looking at the ice cube-couple.<p>

She had been acting strangely around him for the past few days. Just when Beetlejuice would begin to worry that he'd done something wrong she'd act… well, he didn't have quite the word for it, but she'd do this—this _thing_. She'd smile at him in a way that he hoped she'd never smile at anyone ever again, because he wanted that smile just for himself. Beetlejuice being Beetlejuice, however, was too immature and simple to realise what that meant. If you'd have asked him, he'd have probably thought about it, become stuck and finally said that it was something like a secret handshake between friends, only a secret smile between friends. The very best of friends. Soulmates.

Up on stage, in that white dress, Lydia almost looked like a bride.  
>Beetlejuice exhaled, smiling goofily up at her.<p>

Vince, who was continuing his speech, fumbled with his hands before him. "– I… I would like to thank Lydia for performing this evening." He said, before swallowing, glancing at Monitor.  
>The NTV employee gave him a profound, encouraging nod.<br>Vince cleared his throat, eyes darting back to Lydia. Even though he'd been talking, she quite clearly wasn't paying too much attention. She was still looking into the crowd.

Taking a breath, Vince wrestled with his conscience for a moment before carrying on. "Having been the one light in my life, though we have been apart for so long… Lydia, now the time has come for me to–" Vince stopped outright.  
>Beetlejuice and Lydia… they were looking at each other.<br>Whilst there was nothing extraordinary about that, the _way _they were looking at one another was another matter entirely. They were _stealing glances_. When Lydia was looking at, and trying to pay attention to Vince, Beetlejuice was staring at her. When Beetlejuice turned to look at Vince, Lydia was staring at Beetlejuice. This roundabout series of glances continued, and finally when they caught each other's eyes they both smiled in a silly, affectionate way, and averted their gazes almost guiltily.

It was clear that Beetlejuice, like Lydia, had hardly processed a word of what Vince had just said. His eyes were half-lidded, his smile crooked but sincere.  
>Monitor was wrong. They were too wrapped up in each other to just be friends.<p>

A lump formed in Vince's throat, and his heart sunk. Whatever nerve he had plucked up disappeared. "… the… time has come for me to propose a toast. To Lydia. Thank you, and I wish you all the best in your career. And... all the best for the future,"  
>The party guests murmured in formal agreement, cheered, and chinked their glasses together in a toast.<br>Lydia reacted with slight surprise, coming to as if out of a trance, before smiling amiably. "Thank you, your highness." She curtseyed on the spot.  
>The crowd began to sing a happy birthday chant for the prince, holding their drinks aloft whilst swaying to and fro.<p>

Somewhere a long way off, in the NTV offices, the ratings gauge plummeted from 'Above Average' to 'Barely Acceptable'.  
>Monitor fumed, squeezing his glass of champagne so hard that the stem of his glass shattered.<p>

* * *

><p>Over an hour later, beneath a purpling sky swarming with black clouds pregnant with rain, Doomie, Lydia and Beetlejuice were heading back to the Roadhouse. Despite having spent all evening in a building that constantly had the sprinklers on, so to speak, Lydia had left the party with a dress that was mostly unscathed, her modesty retained. Now she glanced skyward, uneasily eyeing up the ominous-looking weather. "Do you really think it's not going to storm, B. J.?"<p>

Her ghostly companion, obnoxious as ever, let out a piercing laugh at the very idea. "As long as old Prince Drip stays inside the palace then it'll be _fi-ine_, babes. Weatherman said it was gonna be a dry, clear ni–"  
>Thunder rumbled so loudly above them that it cut off the end of Beetlejuice's sentence.<p>

Not a second later, the heavens opened and the rain began to pour.

Doomie managed an 'uh oh'.  
>Not for the first time, Beetlejuice and Lydia wished they hadn't built a convertible.<p>

Any other time Lydia would have glanced pointedly at Beetlejuice, and he would have laughed it off nervously, but this time Lydia shrieked, gasped and raised her hands in a desperate and dire bid to protect her modesty.  
>Beetlejuice bust a gut laughing at her. "Relax, babes! Since when do y'care about getting we-et?"<br>"Since I'm wearing white!" She cried, flustered.

Beetlejuice prepared to snort in response and say – 'And?' – when the penny dropped. He glanced at her dress. Translucent patches were forming across it already.  
>"Oh," He said with understanding. Then he snapped his fingers. "No sweat, Lyds!" He turned himself into a car roof, stretching over Doomie, face-down.<p>

Having shut out the wet weather, Lydia smiled up at him, her hands covering the see-through areas on her dress's bodice. "Thanks, Beej,"  
>"Nooo problem-o, babes," He sing-songed back at her as she relaxed in her seat.<p>

Lydia kicked off her shoes into the foot-space and tucked her legs up beside her, her seatbelt loosening enough for her to switch position. Then she tipped her head back, shutting her eyes.  
>The curls in her damp hair were straightening out, the dark rings around her eyes smudged and running. She looked a mess. She looked beautiful.<p>

Beetlejuice quite soon discovered what was, equally, the advantage and disadvantage of his position above her: he could see right down into her cleavage.  
>His eyes bugged, mouth agape.<p>

Lydia had… had _breasts_. Since _when_?

_Well, yeah, Sherlock, she's had a pair of mounds under them clothes fer years! You knew _that_.  
><em>But this wasn't just a budding chest she was sporting - this was a _rack_.  
>If he had been in his usual body he wondered just how well he would've been able to conceal his reaction to this newsflash.<p>

A tiny voice in Beetlejuice's head demanded that he avert his eyes. The brain that was normally situated in his pants refused to listen.  
>His will power then demanded he pivot his head to the other side of the roof. Reason responded that he'd then get wet.<p>

"S-Salivating sandworms…"

Lydia looked up. "What is it, Beej?"  
>Beetlejuice's face, or what was visible of it in his shape-shifted form, drained of colour. "Oh, nothin', nothin'," He replied in a quiet, high voice.<p>

Lydia's face lined with worry. _"_Are you getting wet up there?"  
>Doomie echoed similar concern, speaking the only way he knew how through his engine and a series of bleeps.<p>

Beetlejuice diverted his gaze, smiling mysteriously. "Hey, don't worry about me, Lyds. I'm doin' _great_ up here."

"Well... if you're sure," She decided not to prod him about it anymore. After all, if he moved, the rain would make it so she may as well not be wearing a dress. She wondered how long his magic would hold out, and hoped that they'd at least be on the Lost Souls Highway, near the Roadhouse, when it did.

* * *

><p>The NTV's ratings gauge, a giant thermometer mounted on the wall of the Head of Programming's office, usually sat with its bottom on the floor of this same room, and its top touching the ceiling. Sometimes it extended into the stratosphere, if a certain show was a hit. Sometimes, though more often than not, it descended into the lower levels of the NTV's office building. Currently, the lower half of the gauge was midway into the level below.<p>

If he couldn't get his ratings from a royal proposal, Monitor had another idea. _Eroticism_.  
>He picked up the phone on his desk, and made a call.<p>

"Violet, how are you? Uhuhuh,"  
>The record producer's reaction was neutral at best. "Monitor, a nice surprise. All is well," She said, tone clipped.<p>

Monitor entwined his large fingers in the phone cord absently, looking up to the top of the ratings gauge when he spoke. "Ahah, I'm just, uh, calling to ask: how many tracks has Lydia recorded that were not featured in _Black Alice_?"  
>Violet's end was quiet for a moment before she fumbled with some paperwork. "We have four," She said finally.<br>"Ohohoh," Monitor grinned. Four wasn't quite another album, now, was it? "What do you think to her recording more? I know it's a bit soon for another release, ahuh, but you know these humans - they'll have grown in a blink of an eye."  
>"That is certainly true. Do you think there is a market and demand for a second album this soon?"<br>"Cer-tainly! Ahuh, except this time… ahuh… maybe it should be _scan_dalous,"

Monitor could practically hear Violet break into a smile. Whilst the record producer wasn't exactly his 'partner in crime' and wouldn't stoop to his level, she wasn't one to turn her nose up at entrepreneurial decisions. "I _do_ like the way you think," She hummed approvingly.  
>"We're a team, my dear, ahuh. Just trying to help Lydia all I can." Monitor continued twirling the cord, now looking down at the countless newspapers and estate agents' papers scattered over his desk. An idea struck him. "Oh, and Violet?"<br>"Yes?"

If Lydia didn't want to have a property on this side, then she should be more than receptive to a temporary residence. Preferably one that _wasn't _Beetlejuice's Roadhouse.  
>"Don't you think it would be best for Lydia to stay on this side until this section of the tour is over?" He asked, though it sounded more like a statement.<br>There was a long pause, before Violet inhaled through her nose, sniffing loudly. "I can arrange her hotel,"

"Ahuhuh, splendid! _Do_ convince her," Monitor chuckled, before ending the call. Then, leaning back in his desk chair, he folded his hands on top of his abdomen and began to form a plan.

* * *

><p>That next afternoon, in the Victorian townhouse perched on an incline above Peaceful Pines, Charles and Delia Deetz were relaxing, in their own individuals ways, in their living room.<p>

Their daughter, however, had just finished a call in her bedroom; a call so long-distance that it had traversed life and death to get to her. Violet Nell had phoned, and had somehow managed to convince Lydia to take a weeks' break in an all-expenses paid, Neitherworld hotel.  
>Now Lydia made her way downstairs, appearing in the living room doorway. Trying to keep her face smooth, she thought fast; she needed an alibi.<p>

"Uh, Mom? Dad?" She greeted cautiously.  
>"Yes, pumpkin?" Charles didn't even look up from his newspaper. Delia was also too busy painting to turn.<p>

Lydia had clasped up her hair into a gravity-defying ponytail, dressed in not much more than an over-sized red hooded jumper that she'd given her own gothic touch to, and a pair of black shorts. It had felt good to lie in and have most of the day to herself on this side rather than in the Neitherworld, but now a problem had arisen. How was she going to explain a weeklong absence starting tomorrow?

Lydia toed the carpet with her bare feet. "Um, I was thinking of going on a small trip tomorrow for a few days. You know, sight-seeing? Enjoying the summer sun?"

Delia, at her canvas, lowered her brush and palette, her face creasing up in delight as she glanced over her shoulder at her stepdaughter. "Oh! What a nice idea, Lydia. It'd be good for you to get some fresh air. You can't stay cooped up inside for your entire summer vacation, that's why you're so _pale_,"  
>As though the conversation thus far had taken longer to permeate through Charles' relaxed state of mind, he lowered his paper. "But… you hate the sunshine, pumpkin,"<br>"Oh hush, Charles," Delia spoke up in Lydia's defence. "Who would be going with you, Lydia?"

Just at that moment, 'B. J. Beetleman' appeared beside Lydia in the doorway, smiling perfectly straight teeth. "Don't worry, Delia, I'll take _good _care of Lydia,"  
>Mrs Deetz's eyes widened in horror at the very implication, and her stepdaughter winced. Lydia felt a strong desire to suddenly kick Beetlejuice in the shins.<br>Charles, in the meantime, all but fell out of his chair. "B-B-B- B. J.?"

"Uh, B. J. is _just _giving me a lift to the station, father," Lydia appeased, before narrowing her eyes meaningfully at Beetlejuice. 'B. J.' hadn't been a part of her impromptu, fabricated alibi, because she knew her parents would react like this. No daughter of theirs would be going on an intimate vacation with a boy she'd been seeing for less than a month.

Charles, still spluttering, a hand on his heart, tried to tell himself to relax. "Oh, ahahahah…"  
>Delia let out a breath that sounded more like a relieved sigh. "Well, then, who <em>will <em>you be going with? You simply can't go alone, dear, nineteen or not. I won't hear of it,"

B. J. raised a hand in a gesture that said 'see?' without words. Lydia ignored him. She knew her answer.  
>"Betty," She said with conviction.<p>

This revelation didn't calm Charles' nerves, but Delia looked enthusiastic. "How _is _Betty? It's been years,"  
>"She's doing really well, Mother. So, um, is that all right? The vacation, I mean?"<br>Charles was anxious, as ever. "Well, it's quite last minute…"  
>"Charles, don't be such a stick in the mud!" Delia reprimanded. Then, to her stepdaughter: "Of course, Lydia. You're a woman now, you don't have to ask for our approval,"<br>Charles seemed to whimper at this and hid his head in his paper, while Delia turned back to her painting, humming brightly.

Lydia twiddled with her thumbs for a moment before slapping her hands against her thighs. "Right! Well, I'll start packing then. Can you give me a hand, B. J.?"

Behind his back, Beetlejuice unscrewed a hand from his wrist. "Sure thing, Lyds,"  
>As they turned to head towards the stairwell, he passed it to her with a mischievous grin.<br>Lydia accepted the detached appendage without thinking, before realising what she was holding, gasping, then getting the joke. She levied him a look before smacking him on the arm with his own hand.

"Care to _hand _it over?" Beetlejuice teased, wiggling his eyebrows.  
>Lydia playfully flung it back at him. "You're so dead,"<br>He grinned, his white, straight teeth reverting to their true nature: green, decayed and askew. "Really? I hadn't noticed," Slotting his hand back into place, Beetlejuice turned back into his usual self and stepped up onto the bottom stair. Gripping hold of the banister in an almost defiant manner, he leered down at her.  
>No game rules had been spoken, but a game had been set in motion nonetheless. Lydia chased him up the stairs, giggling to herself all the way.<p>

* * *

><p>Violet had booked Lydia a suite in New Yuck's Gorefester Hotel.<br>The next morning, after waving goodbye to her parents in Peaceful Pines and 'juicing herself to the Neitherworld, Lydia sat side by side with Beetlejuice, he driving Doomie through the city centre whilst she tried to remain as low in her seat as possible. Lately in the Neitherworld she was beginning to get recognised and mobbed wherever she went, and she had a bad feeling that staying at this hotel wasn't going to make matters any easier.

As Doomie sped up, Beetlejuice turned to Lydia, smiling coolly. "Almost there, Lyds. I'll drop ya off, but then I gotta swing by Monitor's office,"

At the mention of the NTV mogul, Lydia tensed.  
>Despite Beetlejuice's buried distrust of the man, he wasn't as antagonistic towards him as Lydia currently felt. After all, though Beetlejuice hadn't quite realised it (and to some extent, neither had Lydia), Monitor had single-handedly ruined their 'date', and had done his best to keep them apart thus far.<p>

"You're… meeting Monitor?" Lydia repeated.  
>"Yeah. Asked me to drop in,"<br>"Did he say why?"  
>Beetlejuice shrugged. "Must be somethin' to do with your career, babes,"<br>Lydia smiled very uneasily. She wasn't comfortable with this situation, not one bit.

Doomie pulled up outside the Gorefester before long. It was a tall concrete building that looked as though it had once been cream in colour, but had since washed out to a ugly shade like that of dirty linen. A lot of the windows were blown out, the missing glass covered with large shutters in some frames, and graffiti reading – "MAYNOT CANNOT" – climbed up one portion of the wall like a vine. The rows upon rows of balconies that lined the various floors were overrun with wild foliage; one on the top floor held a hungry-looking Venus Fly-trap that was at least eight foot tall.  
>Despite appearing poorly maintained, Lydia could tell that, as far as Neitherworld hotels went, this was the cream of the crop.<p>

The two friends watched from their car as some cleaners began to tackle the campaign-disrupting graffiti, washing it off as best they could. They had rolled up election posters for the slandered mayor in their back pockets, posters they were getting ready to paste up in place of the graffiti.  
>Beetlejuice let out a cackle and zapped their bucket. When they next dipped their sponge into what they thought was cleaning fluid, the sponge came out dripping with muck. The cleaners both yelped in disgusted surprise.<br>"Hey, guyyys!" Beetlejuice called from the parking lot. "Didn't ya know that mud sticks?"

"Beetlejuice!" Lydia scolded, but the ghost only laughed, opening up the passenger door. "Listen, babes, I'd love to see ya get settled in, really, but me and Monitor have gotta have a man-to-man talk. Know whut I mean?"  
>"I hope that's what it is," She said heavily.<br>"Have a little faith, Lyds!" Beetlejuice cried, reclining. "And besides," He pointed over Lydia's shoulder, in the direction of the hotel's grand entrance. "Your entourage is here,"

Lydia glanced behind her. Violet and the doorman were making their way out from reception towards them, passing through the revolving doors. Turning back, she watched as Beetlejuice twisted in his seat, levitated the one suitcase Lydia had brought with her out of Doomie's trunk, and settled it down next to her feet.  
>"Well, I guess I'll catch ya later, babes,"<br>Lydia pulled out the retractable handle on the case ready to wheel it after her, but didn't otherwise move from that spot. "B. J.?"  
>"Yeah?"<br>She fidgeted, then finally shrugged her shoulders. "You'll be back later, won't you?" She asked softly. It wasn't very often she was in a strange place in the Neitherworld without him. It wasn't that she was being clingy, nor was it that she was uncomfortable, per say, but she just liked knowing he was around if she needed him.

Beetlejuice laughed. "What's gotten ya so antsy, Lyds?"  
>"Not what, who." She admitted. "Monitor,"<br>Beetlejuice stared at her critically, before guffawing loudly and shaking his head. "Don't worry about _Monitor_, babes."

Nevertheless, he offered Lydia one last look. His sureness faltered, and for half a second he looked reluctant to leave her.  
>He sighed and pumped the accelerator foot-pedal lightly, but nothing happened. Doomie had automatically shut off his engine. Turning the key in the ignition, Beetlejuice shook his head as the sentient car let out a loud beep before revving loudly.<p>

"I'll be back in two shakes of a dog's tail," He promised, before Doomie carried him away from the Gorefester, and away from Lydia.

* * *

><p>Monitor was stood in front of the ratings gauge, his back to his office's door. NTV had just aired a rerun of Lydia's live chat with Barf Biffman, only with some minor editing. This version now completely cut out the question that cast doubt on Lydia's availability. It was effective, because the ratings had climbed back up to 'Above Average'.<p>

Just then, the door opened. Monitor turned.  
>Beetlejuice strode into the office, smiling confidently. After all, he'd just picked up yet another pay-cheque, and he was on a high from the amount of <em>money <em>he and Lydia had.

_Ahuhuhuh, you won't be smiling like that when you leave this office, Beetlejuice_. Monitor thought with an internal grin.  
>He began to step over to him, meeting Beetlejuice halfway. "Mr B. J., sir! Just the man I wanted to see, ahuh,"<br>"Monitor," The ghost greeted, hands in his pockets, head tilted high.

The network mogul withdrew a cigar case from an inside pocket of his suit jacket and offered Beetlejuice one. He declined. Monitor retrieved one for himself instead, but didn't light it and didn't otherwise raise it to his mouth. "I suppose you wonder why I called you here?"  
>Beetlejuice's hands sunk lower into his pockets. "Well… yeah,"<p>

Monitor sat down behind his desk, relaxing back into his large wingback chair. He waved the cigar-holding hand pompously. "Now, I admit, up until now I've been… what would you say? Ohoh, yes, mini-managing Lydia."  
>Beetlejuice grunted in agreement.<br>Monitor rested his elbows on the desk, folding his arms slowly. "Well, for that I apologise. Ohohoh, as a matter of fact, I was hoping to talk to you about making you more – uh, responsible for her."

This came as a surprise. Beetlejuice raised an eyebrow, but looked interested all the same. "Uh… right. _How_ exactly?"  
>Monitor smiled a wolfish grin. "Everything that <em>I <em>have been handling thus far I feel I should hand to you. After all, that is your _job_,"

The keenness disappeared from Beetlejuice's face just as it drained of colour. "J-Job…?"  
>Monitor gestured to a large, round table, on which sat a mountain of paperwork. At the sight of it, Beetlejuice's eyes widened, and his throat went dry. "Uh, heheh, Monitor, there's gotta be some mistake… I mean, that looks like a lot of <em>work<em>,"  
>Monitor's four pairs of eyes flashed darkly. "But Lydia will be much happier if you're, ahuh, in charge. Won't she?" He stabbed.<p>

Beetlejuice twitched. To him, all that weighty paperwork was screaming to be dumped in the shredder. "I… think Lydia knows as well as you do that I'm not the most organised person in the Neitherworld,"  
>The walking TV set grinned all the more nastily. "Well then, if you don't want to do your job then how about you let me handle her career completely from now on?"<p>

Beetlejuice hesitated.  
><em>Waitaminute. What is this? <em>He wondered, trying to decide just what Monitor's motives were. He tried not to fall for the bait, but it simply wasn't in his character. "Uh… so… you're saying I keep the job title... without the work?"  
>"I'm saying you keep the salary, ahuh. Not so much the job title." Monitor clarified, and produced a contract.<br>Beetlejuice didn't need two seconds to think about this. Blinded by the prospect of even easier money, he rushed over to Monitor's desk and signed the contract rapidly.  
>Monitor sneered. "Splendid," He said, retracting the document and tucking it inside his suit jacket.<p>

On the top of his desk rested one sheet of paper, divided into tables. Monitor plucked it up unscrupulously now, holding it out for Beetlejuice to see. The tables denoted different sections, and it became clear that it was a timetable, or a year-to-view diary. According to this timetable, Lydia's calendar was entirely business, business and more business. In fact, no free time had been administered to her at all.

Beetlejuice let out a tangled cry. He tried to snatch the piece of paper, but Monitor moved too fast for him. "Hey, Monitor, what kind of schedule is this? You'll work Lydia to death!" He objected, the side of his fist coming down heavily on the table-top. "I mean—when will _I _get to see her?"

Monitor's smile stretched from the side of one screen to the opposite side of its neighbouring screen. "Oh! How foolish of me! Ahuh…" He handed Beetlejuice an object. "You won't be able to. But you can contact her through this,"  
>Beetlejuice looked down at the item in his hand. It was a mobile yell-phone. He regarded it as though he'd just been handed a poisonous spider. "But… Lydia doesn't even have a cell phone… not even on the Other Side,"<p>

Both men jumped and turned as the door creaked open behind them. Monitor's personal assistant walked in, holding the door to. "Mr Monitor, your next appointment is waiting,"  
>Their time was up, and at the sight of the triumphant look on Mr Monitor's face, Beetlejuice had an epiphany. He suddenly realised the consequences of what he'd just done. Shock was evident across his face.<br>Monitor was waving. "Ahuh, buh-bye, Beetlejuice,"

Beetlejuice's shock turned to rage.  
>He'd been <em>tricked<em>. Monitor was trying to keep him and Lydia apart!  
>Steam blew out of the ghost's ears as he dropped the cell phone without a thought and gripped hold of the edge of the desk so hard that the wood began to splinter. "Now wait just a second, Monitor!" He cried.<p>

Monitor raised a large hand to his face, cupping it around his mouth. "Oh securityyyy!"  
>Appearing from the anteroom, two men twice the size of Beetlejuice grappled him into submission and began to forcefully escort him backwards out of the office.<p>

Beetlejuice, too angry and focused on Monitor to even think about 'juicing himself free, narrowed his eyes at the gradually diminishing form of the self-righteous bastard behind the desk at the back of the room.

"Oh, Beetlejuice!" Monitor taunted.

He growled, his hands beginning to swell into giant claws with sharp, red talons.

"The Gorefester Hotel has come up with a new policy, ahuhuh. A certain 'Ghost with the Most' is _strictly_ banned."

"WHAT?" Beetlejuice's head expanded to three times its normal size, teeth becoming jagged and needle-sharp. His rage was so black he could hardly see straight; the only thing he could focus on was Monitor's sadistic grin.  
>The security guards threw open the office's double doors and began to drag Beetlejuice back through them.<p>

Calling down the expanse of the room, Monitor began to laugh madly. "Ahahaha! And if it wasn't clear, Beetlejuice – you are _forbidden_ from seeing Lydia. Ahuh. Ahah! Ahahahaha!"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I've always both hated and loved Monitor. Even though he was never exactly a villain in the series, he was always, always so damn antagonistic.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

"Lydia, dear, can't you see the vision?"  
>Inside the executive Gorefester suite, Violet had kindly helped Lydia unpack her things, but had since taken this opportunity to relay a new, sensitive idea to her. Standing in the middle of the dimly lit room, waving pale, manicured hands, she tried to find the right words to express this pitch. "Adding a certain… sexiness to your music and image would be… would be highly beneficial,"<p>

Lydia was sat on the edge of the rack-shaped bed pushed flush to the wall at the back of the room. She tried her best to give Violet the benefit of the doubt, but this was something that proved difficult when all she could think about was what NTV would get out of it.  
>"That'd sure be good for Monitor's ratings…" She mumbled into her palm, resting her head in her hand.<p>

Violet scoffed and shook her head fervently. Straightening, she set her hands on her hips and frowned, closing the distance between herself and her starlet. "This isn't about Mr Monitor, Lydia, this is about the music scene in the Neitherworld, and it's about selling albums. You said so yourself to me that the music on the Other Side is, well, sexy these days. And does it sell? Of course it does. Sex sells. We need something to spice up this side,"

Lydia's expression was pleading. "Violet, you're essentially asking me to whore myself out on stage. I have friends here who have known me since I was a _child, _friends that are supporting me in my career. They'd be horrified if–" She stopped.  
><em>Wait… career? Since when did I start thinking about this as though it were a permanent job?<br>_Thinking long and hard for a moment, Lydia closed her eyes and let out a breath, deciphering her thoughts. Finally, she said carefully: "Look, I don't mind the idea of being a _little_ sexier, Vi,"

Violet folded her arms. "You see I have a point then?" She pressed.  
>"Yes. But I don't want things to go too far,"<br>The record producer held up a firm hand. "You have my word, Lydia. Now, we shall record more tracks in the morning. I will send a driver to pick you up at six and then we shall be away. Choose what you feel you can sing, but remember what we've spoken about,"

The idea of a 6am start in the morning made Lydia cringe, but she masked it well. She nodded, drained of energy. "Pop songs filled with innuendo. I can hardly wait," She said, voice laced with sarcasm.  
>Violet began to head to the door. "You can put a twist on them, dear. Now, you look like you need to rest,"<br>Lydia smiled. No kidding, she was exhausted. This nonstop touring, performing, navigating between her life in the real word and her life in the Neitherworld, was tiring her out mentally as well as physically.  
>"Mmhmm… " She hummed in approval, lying back on the bed already.<p>

"I'll be at the NURL studios if you need me. I've left the number by the phone, Lydia."  
>As Violet's hand touched the door handle, she waited for Lydia's acknowledgement. When she received no response, the sound of light, soft breathing made her turn.<br>"… Lydia?"

She had already fallen into a deep and soundless sleep.

* * *

><p>The main elevator shaft in the NTV's office building was out of service. Many employees complained that they'd picked the wrong day to clean it, but little did they know that the car wasn't being cleaned, it simply wasn't there anymore. It had exploded.<p>

Beetlejuice was on the warpath. After being forced into the elevator car by the two security guards, the next thing he knew he'd been flying at sixty-miles-an-hour out of the network's headquarters and straight to New Yuck City.  
>Doomie had glanced skyward as his master zipped by, and could only tail him in dazed concern. There was one thing Doomie was sure about: something had just gone horribly wrong.<p>

Upon reaching the Gorefester in record time, Beetlejuice charged straight up the grand, sweeping steps towards the revolving doors that led to reception, not thinking straight. Just as he was no more than a foot away, an iron gate slammed down out of nowhere to prevent him entering. Unaffected, he launched himself into the air, making a beeline towards an open window. This time a steel shutter blocked it off just as he extended a hand towards it.

Fire burned in his empty veins as his rage only intensified.  
>"Sure. Fine. Don't wanna let me in, huh? Well, it'll take a lot more than <em>that <em>to keep out the B-guy," He muttered in his anger. Rolling up his sleeves, he shut his eyes and focused his 'juice. He tried zapping himself inside. Nothing happened. A sinking feeling so strong took over him, almost as strong as gravity, almost enough to pull him back down to earth. He tried again, clenching his fists and willing it with all his might. Again, nothing.

"O…kay. You asked for it. I'll make my _own_ door,"  
>He snapped his fingers, pictured turning himself into a wrecking ball that could slam into the side of the hotel, but when he tried to 'shift his shape nothing came of it. If it weren't for the fact that he was still hovering twenty feet in the air he'd have thought he had no magic left at all.<br>"Ya gotta be fuckin' kidding me!" Beetlejuice cried, pulling at his hair in his frustration as he tried desperately not to panic. He'd been without his magic before, but he'd never felt as hopeless as he did now, even though he and Lydia were in no immediate danger. After all, the times he'd been without his magic, he'd had her with him.

He fruitlessly tried more ideas, becoming wilder and more desperate, before zooming around the hotel trying to find a breach in its defences.  
>Eventually, he tried a new tactic. Doubling back to outside of the hotel's perimeter, he realised that Monitor hadn't taken his powers, but the hotel had some kind of preventative system against magic. After all, he wasn't the only ghoul with 'juice', he was just the (self-professed) most proficient at using it.<p>

Beetlejuice snapped his fingers. Immediately he turned into a pinstriped fighter jet.  
>His grin, displayed on the underside of the nose of the plane, was almost evil in its combined triumph and mischief.<br>"_Ha_!"  
>He fired a missile in the direction of the hotel. As soon as it came within a hairbreadth of the building, it rebounded off of an invisible barrier and returned to sender.<br>Beetlejuice had time to open his mouth in shock before the missile exploded in his face.  
>Instead of letting it go, instead of laughing at his own stupidity, he balled his hands up into fists. Shaking off the ash, voice almost demonic, he resorted to the only thing he could do. "LYDIA!" He screamed, but his voice wasn't nearly loud enough to permeate through the thick concrete walls of the Gorefester, let alone loud enough to reach its premium suite on the top floor.<p>

Sometimes, usually around the time she'd summon him, Beetlejuice could see into Lydia's world, or even into her head. He'd feel a 'pull' from her, and a little voice in his mind, oftentimes hers, would tell him what was happening. He'd know if she was in trouble, he'd know if she were sad, but right now he couldn't feel _anything_. Whatever connection bound them was currently silent.

Doomie honked, startling Beetlejuice back into reality. He turned, looking down at the vehicle he'd abandoned outside of the NTV headquarters, and floated back down to pat his coupe absently on the hood. Doomie looked concerned, and with good reason; Beetlejuice's expression was still thunderous.

He couldn't remember being as angry about anything in his entire afterlife. _Nobody _was going to keep him and Lydia apart. _Nobody_. There wasn't a being with power enough to separate them.

Doomie asked him what the matter was, but without Lydia acting translator and Beetlejuice usually deaf to whatever the car had to say, he just shrugged. Finally he climbed into the driver's side, drumming his fingers restlessly on the dashboard. "Monitor's gonna pay for this, Doomie," He said, bitter and decisive.  
>Sniffing and leaning on the steering wheel, he examined his options.<br>So they had some kind of anti-magic field around the hotel? Big deal. He'd see Lydia when she left the hotel. She'd have to leave at some point.

* * *

><p>The next morning, reception called Lydia's room at 5am, as per request, to wake her up in time to get ready for her pick-up. She'd slept soundlessly since drifting off and, waking up groggily, could hardly believe how long she'd slept. She hadn't realised just how exhausted she'd been.<br>She got dressed as fast as possible, only to realise just as she was pulling on her tights that, if she'd been asleep for a good eighteen hours, then Beetlejuice hadn't come back for her yesterday. After all, he was far too obnoxious just to let her sleep.

With a heavy heart, Lydia made her way down to reception just before six, then stepped out of the hotel to wait on the steps facing the slip of road that circled away from the hotel for valet parking.

It was still dark, dawn had not yet broken and at this hour it was probably most interesting to note that the Neitherworld didn't seem too different from the world of the living in the dark.  
>Despite the lack of light, Lydia soon found herself able to make out a figure stood beyond the gated walls of the hotel. She wondered for a moment if it was her driver, but then surely he would have pulled up to the door?<br>As she focused, eyes adjusting, she realised the person was waving, trying to get her attention.  
><em>Beej<em>?  
>She began to run towards the gates of the hotel. "Beetlejuice?"<p>

Before she got to them, a crowd appeared out of nowhere, rounding the corner and swarming into the hotel grounds.  
><em>"It's Lydia!"<em>  
><em>"It's Lydia Deetz!"<em>  
><em>"Can I have an autograph?"<em>

A familiar voice struggled to be heard over the clamour. "_**Lyds**_!"  
>"B. J.!" Lydia cried back, but her voice was lost. Fans mobbed her. One ghoul held out six pairs of hands for her to shake, another creature who seemed to be<br>entirely composed of slime pulled her into an uncomfortable embrace, while a young skeletal girl with pigtails began hanging off of her arm.  
>Beetlejuice flew over the crowd. "Babes! Are you o-–?"<p>

"_Lydia_!"  
>"<em>Lydia, will you sign my album<em>?"  
>"<em>I love your music<em>!"

"- I was wo-"  
>"Beej, I can't hear you!"<br>"The night watchman won't let me in-"  
>"HUH?" Lydia cried, feeling her arms moving up and down as people shook her hands, not really noticing that she wasn't interested.<p>

"–I can't 'juice him 'cause I -"  
>"WHAT? I can't hear!" She tried to tell him, but couldn't shout loud enough. From what she could make out of what he was saying, he was making up excuses. Her brow furrowed, eyes stinging. <em>Why is he even bothering?<em>

"–sat outside with Doomie all night-"  
>She was losing her temper, finding it increasingly difficult to snag a word of what he was saying. "What are you trying to say, B. J.?"<p>

Before long, a limousine drew up alongside her, dispersing the crowd. Her fans simultaneously whooped and booed, reluctantly parting for the vehicle.  
>The driver of the limo rolled his window down and nodded at Lydia, expression blank. "Miss Deetz, please get in,"<br>eLydia had no trouble hearing _him_. Reluctantly, she climbed into the back of the car as a handpicked security officer climbed out of the other side and began to fight off the enthusiastic crowd.

Beetlejuice flew as close to the vehicle as he could without the security guard knocking him back. "But Lydia! I can't get into the hotel!"  
>Lydia, tired, disgruntled and raw from him not coming back for her, snapped. "Beetlejuice, look, stop making up excuses-! I've got <em>things<em> to do. If you didn't want to come back last night, fine, but don't bullshit me, okay?"  
>"<em>Lydia<em>!"

She fought to slam the door, trying not to shut a fan's hand in with her in the process.

Beetlejuice got close enough to press his hands to the tinted glass, slamming the side of his fist against it despairingly.  
>Did she just accuse him of <em>bullshitting <em>her?  
>"I wouldn't lie to ya, Lyds! Lemme just explain!"<p>

Lydia thought about their failed date, and remembered only one thing in her early morning bleariness. She remembered the smug look on his face when he'd told her Ariel was 'all over him', and, too, remembered his flirtations with that woman at the Society event.  
>He didn't care about <em>her<em>. Hell, for all she knew, last night he was probably with some other girl. After all, he couldn't have been sat talking to Monitor all _day_.  
>"Don't bother," She answered sharply, her voice muffled through the window. Then, leaning forward in her seat, she tapped on the partition dividing her from her chauffeur. "Driver!"<br>The limousine pulled out of the hotel's parking lot before Beetlejuice could say or do anything else.

As the limousine turned onto the boulevard and began speeding towards the record label's studios, Lydia pressed her face into her palm, fighting back tears of resentment and fatigue.  
><em>Beetlejuice, you're <em>such_ an idiot_…

* * *

><p>Having recorded six more tracks, as per instruction, at the studio, Lydia didn't get back to the hotel until mid-afternoon. She tried not to focus on too many things at once, despite wondering how she was going to catch up on sleep and worrying about the sexy dance routine Violet had ordered a team to choreograph for her.<p>

She made her way to her en-suite bathroom tiredly. The mirror over the basin was fractured 'stylishly' down the middle and separated by a few centimetres of wall, while half a dozen shards decorated the border in a starburst pattern. Back home it would've looked as though someone had dropped the mirror, panicked and mounted it on the wall hoping no one would notice it wasn't meant to be like that. Here, well, it was just another crazy thing in a crazy, crazy world.

Lydia skirted the tentacle that writhed out of the bathtub's plughole and ran cold water into the sink basin beneath her pale fingers.  
>Splashing her face, she stared at her reflection in the mirror, pulling at the dark bags under her eyes. She looked ill, a shell of her former self.<br>Pressing her forehead to the cool glass, she let out a sigh.  
>"I don't think I can do this for much longer…"<p>

* * *

><p>Hours had passed, and Lydia had been swept away to the Nose Bowl stadium for her 'biggest concert yet'.<br>The basement platform on which she was now standing was ascending slowly to stage-level, plunging her into iridescent bright light.  
>All she could hear was screaming and cheering; the level of applause was phenomenal.<br>When she appeared fully, the audience gasped. There was a long pause before the screaming began once more, accompanied by wolf-whistling.  
>Lydia was in a black, lacy, form-fitting dress. It was long-sleeved, but, boy, was it short. It left nothing to the imagination, especially due to the fact that it was mostly translucent.<p>

Much as Lydia disliked mainstream pop she'd chosen this song simply because she thought the message might appeal to… well, a certain someone. Someone she was still cross with, even though she couldn't remember why.

Stepping to the edge of the stage, she was joined by two female backing dancers. These two, your average ghouls, only heightened Lydia's beauty in comparison.  
>Before long, Lydia burst into song, performing her incredibly sensual dance routine with her dancers. Not a second into the chorus, the two women doubled back to welcome onstage a vat full of an unidentified substance, and gestured with gusto as the vat was tipped by an unseen mechanism. Out poured a gunky, green substance, dousing the stage and covering Lydia head to toe with slime.<br>The crowd, who had, up until this point, silently wondered over Lydia's bare feet, stopped wondering. The slime was of a thin consistency, enough to mostly wash off of her without sticking, and wasn't too hard to walk through. The dancing segment, however, was over, and instead Lydia could only drop to her knees and do something she had never done before, and felt cheap and tainted for doing. She writhed in the slime, tilting her head back whilst smiling euphorically; managing to make it look as though she'd been coated in chocolate rather than goo.

Stretching her arms above her head, Lydia narrowed her eyes and sang at the top of her lungs. "… wanna get _**dirty**_…"

* * *

><p>"Be-etlejuice! Lydia is on TV!" Jacques called upstairs to the ghost who had arrived home hours ago only to sulk up in his room ever since.<p>

After a moment he could hear Beetlejuice grunt, before the hundredth _tup! _sound of a dart being thrown and sinking into wood followed after. "I know. I'm s'posed to be meetin' her after the show,"  
>"Well, are you?" Ginger butted in, standing at the foot of the stairs.<br>Another grunt, and another period of silence, before: t_up!_ "… she's pretty mad at me for some reason,"

Jacques glanced at the TV, then back at Ginger, but raised his voice up to Beetlejuice when he spoke. "You… do not want to watch?"  
>Beetlejuice didn't reply. He was too busy trying to think up his revenge on Monitor.<p>

Despite what Jacques had said, Lydia wasn't _exactly _on screen yet, she was slowly emerging from a trapdoor in the stage floor. In the next instant, when she appeared in a foggy mist and stepped to the edge of the catwalk that extended out over the crowd, Jacques saw what she was wearing. His jaw cracked, broke, and fell off into his lap. After a moment, he picked it up and reconnected it numbly, before trying and failing to cover his eye sockets with his hands.

Ginger, intrigued by his reaction, walked over and peeked at the TV, only to shriek in horror. "Eee! She looks…!"  
>"<em>Mes oui<em>!"  
>"Our Lydia doesn't dress like <em>that<em>,"  
>"Like what?" Beetlejuice called down the stairs.<br>Ginger and Jacques exchanged nervous glances. "Uh…"

As Lydia began to dance onscreen Ginger made excuses and scuttled away into the kitchen, leaving Jacques' tolerance to reach it's end. "_Sacre bleu_! Be-etlejuice! Lydia's performances are becoming too _érotiques!_"

Up in his room, throwing darts at a picture of Monitor he had stuck on the back of his door, Beetlejuice froze. Darts disappearing with a poof, his door swung open seemingly of its own volition and he floated down to the common room. "What're you talkin' about, Jacques?" He asked tiredly.

"Look!" The skeleton, who had since begun to cover his face with his beret, stood up and gestured for Beetlejuice to take his seat. He did so, trying to humour Jacques. That is, at least, until he saw the commotion on screen.

Lydia was covered in a slimy substance. She looked as though she'd taken a dip in a rot tub, though wasn't exactly dressed for it. Point in fact, she was dressed for the bedroom, in a lace net so short it was practically an over-sized top, and so see-through that it was just as well she was wearing what appeared to be a bikini beneath.  
>She was <em>dancing<em>, writhing and moving so fast that Beetlejuice's eyes could hardly follow.

As he watched, he let out a high-pitched squeak, his cheeks burning. Suddenly all of the lights in the building turned on high before exploding from the heat. His eyes popped and, just like Jacques, his jaw dropped, though at least stayed connected to his head.

"W-W-W-Wha-?"

One moment Beetlejuice was feeling pleasantly hot under the collar. The next he just felt plain incensed. His wide eyes narrowed and his fists began shaking at his sides. "Hey! This isn't a concert, this is a peep show, for crying out loud!" He growled, imagining dropping Monitor into an expanse of water that would _actually_ fry his circuitry.  
>Jacques turned off the television. "<em>Oui<em>." He stood with his boney arms folded, looking down at his neighbour in a queer mix of concern and indifference that smacked of 'I told you so'.  
>"This is not good, Be-etlejuice. This has gone on far too long. Lydia could become trapped in this <em>situa-tion<em>,"

"Hey, who turned out the lights?" Ginger whimpered nasally from the kitchen.

Beetlejuice ignored the tap-dancing spider and instead turned to look up at Jacques, throat dry. His anger dissipated, leaving only concern in its wake. "T-Trapped? N-Naww, Lyds can walk out of there whenever she _wants_…"  
>"Then why has she not already?" Jacques frowned, tapping a foot on the floor. "She has been looking awful lately, Be-etlejuice. She is not having as much fun as she used to,"<p>

Beetlejuice sunk low in his seat, bowing his head. "… And I'm not even allowed to see her anymore," He muttered to himself.

"You 'ave to talk to _monsieur_ Monitor. Get her out of it,"  
>The anger came back, renewed and unimpeded. "Oh, I'll talk to Monitor all right." Beetlejuice growled, gripping the arm of the sofa hard enough to draw stuffing out of it.<br>The sound of click-clacking feet could be heard before Ginger appeared beside the two men, surprised. "You aren't bothered about the money, Beetlejuice?" After all, he didn't sound like he had much to discuss with Monitor besides whether or not he'd like to taste a knuckle sandwich, or be force-fed it. And if that happened, the cheques would stop coming.

Beetlejuice stood up abruptly, straightening out his tie as he strode towards the door. "Lyds is more important than money, Ginge," He replied shortly, before opening up the front door and heading to the Nose Bowl stadium.

* * *

><p>"… <em>it's about time for my arrival<em>," Lydia finished singing, managing to stand - without slipping - on the slimy catwalk at the end of the stage.

The audience screamed so loud that her eardrums pounded. Panting and trembling from head to toe, she felt... _wrong_.  
>What was she doing? Why was she singing? She wasn't a <em>singer<em>; she was a photographer, a seamstress, a fashion designer but _not _a singer.  
>And what <em>was <em>she singing? Pop? She _hated _pop.

Lydia looked down at the people standing below her, their hands outstretched to her desperately as though she were a deity that could heal the sick with her touch. Many of them were wannabe girls but an alarming proportion were men with lecherous grins. Some of these odd ghouls even began attempting to mount the catwalk.  
>Lydia's eyes widened, her heart thundering in her chest. She began to back up towards the main stage when she felt a cold, decomposed hand grab her bare leg. She screamed.<br>"I'm touching a celebrity!" The ghoul jeered, running his hands alongst her skin. "Aah, I'd forgotten what living skin feels like…"  
>Trying hard to contain a shriek of revulsion, Lydia tried desperately to wrestle the fan off, only to catch sight of others beginning to climb the abysmally low platform. Hyperventilating, she glanced around in a desperate attempt to locate a nearby bouncer. She was relieved to see that a few had caught sight of this fiasco and were running over to help, but was dismayed to see that they were still a long way off.<p>

Another ghoul reached for her other leg.

Her mind filled with panic.  
><em>Beetlejuice, help! <em>Was her first, most desperate thought. Part of her even waited for him to appear out of the crowd, to say something witty, to 'juice these creeps into oblivion. But he wasn't coming, he wasn't even here, he hadn't even bothered to show.  
><em>Why are you feeling like a damsel in distress, Lydia Deetz? You never have been, and you never will be.<br>_Her anger at her own weakness, and at Beetlejuice for that matter, gave her enough energy to kick the fan off of her, avoid the outstretched hands of the rest of the mob and dash to the stage curtain. Rumpled and distressed, she headed backstage. She needed to find Monitor, needed to get him to step up security. No, no, better yet, she wanted to end this concert. Now.

Having been handed a towel and a robe by an attendant, Lydia dressed herself in a rushed, impatient manner.  
>Rounding a corner and storming down a long corridor, she caught sight of Monitor, up ahead, stood outside of a conference room with a red-headed woman. She sped up, eyes darkening, when a string of their conversation echoed down the hallway.<p>

"This is only half of what I had in mind," The woman exclaimed conceitedly.

Lydia, alarmed, ducked behind an ajar door of one of the rooms lining the corridor before she could be spotted.  
>She didn't <em>mean <em>to eavesdrop, but they were talking so loud that she found it impossible to ignore them, and with her suspicions roused she could hardly turn a blind eye. Or, well, deaf ear, for that matter.  
><em>Half?<em> _Half of what?  
><em>Lydia peeked through the space between the ajar door and where it was hinged to the wall, eyes narrowed.  
>Monitor was laughing, a nasty expression on his four faces. "Ahuh, well, you and I may see things differently, Miss Cartwheel. After all, you didn't fulfil <em>your<em> end of the bargain,"  
>Lydia's eyes widened. <em>Bargain? What bargain? What the hell is Monitor up to?<em>

The woman objected at this in a voice that was so whiney and spoilt that Lydia had to grit her teeth to bear it. "I tried!"  
>"<em>Trying <em>isn't good enough," Monitor countered.

"But he's got power!"  
>"Many ghouls have,"<br>"But not like he has!"  
>Monitor waved a large hand vaguely. "This isn't even payment for your failure, ahuh, this is a down payment for you future–"<br>"No."  
>"But Miss Ariel–"<p>

At the name 'Ariel' Lydia tensed and sucked in a breath that almost sounded like a hiss.

The woman took a step back in her clacking pair of high heels, shaking her head. "Nuh uh. I thought this would be _fun_, thought I could have a chance to get back at him, but I realised something: you can't pay me enough to be near that Beetlepunk again,"

Lydia covered her mouth to stop herself from gasping, or from yelling in outrage. '_Beetlepunk'? _Was she talking about Beetlejuice? She had to be! And so then what did that mean? That... Ariel was… planted? By Monitor?

Ariel sniffed and turned on her heel, beginning to head straight in Lydia's direction.  
>Lydia ducked deeper into the shadows of the room, which happened to be a janitor's closet, and retreated right back into a locker that pressed coldly into her back. She held her breath as Ariel walked straight on by without noticing her, before continuing out of sight.<br>Lydia waited, counting the seconds that rolled by as Monitor finally stepped into the room he'd been stood in front of. As soon as she heard the click of the conference room door she began to glower angrily. The next thing she knew she was charging into the room at the end of the corridor.  
>"<em>Monitor!"<em>

The executive almost jumped out of his skin. He placed a hand over his heart, chuckling in his annoying, habitual manner. "Ohoh, Lydia? W-What a pleasure, you're doing wonderfully, ahuh… Shouldn't you be changing for the next interval?"

Lydia had forgotten about the over-eager fans that had climbed onto the stage, had forgotten about all she'd wanted to discuss with him before. Instead she pointed to the door furiously. "What was that? And what the hell do you think you're doing?"  
>One of Monitor's screens turned to an exclamation mark, whilst another looked nervous, another whistled innocently and another seemed to sweat terribly. "Ahuh, I'm, uh, not sure what you mean?"<p>

His mock-innocence only made Lydia angrier. She marched over to him despite her state of undress, towel slowly unwinding from her grimed hair. "You've made my life a living hell these past few weeks! Those women fawning over Beetlejuice—that was _your _doing?"  
>All four of Monitor's screens were back in tune with one another, and all four looked shifty. "What makes you think that?"<br>"Don't try and cajole you're way out of it, Monitor." Lydia warned.

"Whatever _I _might have had a hand in is neither here nor there." The TV-mogul said in a lazy, bored tone. He crossed the room over to her, towering in height, his hands almost as large as Lydia's own head. For the first time in his presence she felt threatened by him. Lydia swallowed thickly, trying to keep a defiant expression on her face.  
>Monitor regarded her for a moment, before smirking. "Ahuh, whatever I did, it proves my point. It certainly looks as though Beetlejuice doesn't have time to spend with <em>you <em>anymore, Lydia."

Normal, straight-thinking Lydia wouldn't have risen to the bait and would have laughed in his face. An exhausted, irritable and distressed Lydia, however, felt her bottom lip quiver. She took a stunned step back. "W-What?"  
>She tried to tell herself that Monitor was spoon-feeding her lies, tried to tell herself that it wasn't like that, that Beetlejuice always wanted to be with her. But… he hadn't made much of an effort to come to her performances or appearances, and he hadn't come back for her last night…<p>

Monitor placed a firm hand on her shoulder. "Do you know what I talked to Beetlejuice about yesterday?" He continued in a smooth voice. "I tried to persuade him to do his job. To, ahuh, manage you,"  
>Lydia wasn't sure she wanted to hear anymore. She winced, pulling her robe tighter around her. "A-And?"<p>

Monitor used his free hand to withdraw something from an inside-pocket in his suit jacket. "Well… he didn't want to, and here's the documents to prove it,"  
>Lydia looked up at the contract and at the messy scrawl at the bottom that was Beetlejuice's signature. She felt wretched.<br>"I see…" She said quietly, wanting the ground to swallow her up.

Monitor patted her shoulder absently. "Ohohoho, but Miss Deetz, onto more important matters, ahuh." He turned around, and motioned to a ratings gauge that had been erected and mounted on the back wall of the conference room, an identical one to that in his office. The top of the gauge had shot up through the ceiling and extended out towards the evening sky above. Monitor gestured to the gauge with such pride and excitement that he made Lydia feel even lower.  
>"Would you look at these ratings? They're going through the roof-! Ahuh, sky high! I've never seen anything like it!"<p>

Lydia deflated, collapsing into an armchair. Supporting her brow with one hand, exhausted and at the end of her tether, she spoke in a monotone voice. "I want out," She said quietly, yet with such strong conviction that she, herself, realised just how much she _did _want this charade to stop.

Monitor hesitated before turning, smiling wickedly. "Erhuh… oh, but you can't, my little starlet. Not when we have this." He produced a wad of paperwork out of nowhere, so thick and with so much fine-print that it hurt to look at.  
>He stepped over to Lydia and held it up for her inspection. It was another contract, this one even more official looking than the one Beetlejuice had signed only yesterday.<br>Lydia's stricken face drained of all colour. Her eyes focused on a single line in the fine-print and lingered there long enough for her to recoil in horror.  
>Clause one denoted her servitude as a star with both the record company and the Neitherworld Television Network. For the next eight centuries.<p>

She made to leap out of her chair, tears threatening to come to her eyes. "I didn't sign that!" She cried.  
>Monitor smugly pocketed the paperwork. "No, but your ex-manager did. On <em>your<em> behalf." He said with a great deal of satisfaction. Then, forcibly holding Lydia down in her chair, he leered at her. "You belong to us now, Miss Deetz." This he spoke with such terrible patience and emphasis that the words seemed to strike Lydia like a slap to the face.

Her stomach heaved, forcing bile up into her throat. _B-Beetlejuice…?_

The doors to the conference room blew inwards. As if on cue, Beetlejuice stood, huffing and panting with his arms out where he had shoved the doors to. "MONITOR!"

The Neitherworldian in question withdrew from Lydia and turned to face Beetlejuice squarely.  
>The poultergeist rolled up his sleeves to above his elbows, storming right in before assessing the situation and before even spotting Lydia in the chair. He growled angrily, body tensed, head down as though he were about to charge like a raging bull. "You have been <em>hurtin'<em> for a 'juicing, you bas—"  
>Lydia stood up.<br>"Bah…. buh… b-babes?"

She moved so fast he could hardly process it. Storming by him, Lydia knocked him as she went, hair-towel falling discarded to the floor. Beetlejuice impulsively swung around and caught hold of her arm, stopping her without thinking. "Babes? _Lyds_?"  
>She flinched at his touch and snapped her arm out of his grip, wheeling around, her expression almost murderous. "How COULD you?" She screamed.<p>

Beetlejuice wheeled back, shocked into submission for a brief hesitation before he did a double-take, blinking furiously. "…. W-Whaa?"  
>Lydia was clutching onto the folds of her robe so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. Her eyes were swollen and wet with tears that were beginning to come thick and fast, tears of rage.<br>"How could you sign the rest of my life, not to mention a good portion of my _after_life away? And for what! MONEY?" One hand unwound itself from the fabric of her robe and was poised, mid-air, to slap him.

Beetlejuice took a step back, shaking his head numbly as she advanced on him. "Babes, I- I didn't…"

In the background, Monitor sneered and took a seat as he watched the drama unfold.

Lydia jabbed Beetlejuice hard in the chest. "You signed that god-damn contract, Beej!" She cried, voice overcome with wavering emotion. Her anger had loosened her tongue, and she found herself speaking fast, barely taking a breath. "It's all about _money _with you! Hell, it always has been. It's in your nature, I get that. But the fact that you value _money _above my—" She grasped at words desperately. "–my _life_?"

Beetlejuice was utterly speechless. "Babes, look…"

"Don't you _dare _'babes' me! Just don't. I don't even SEE you anymore! Not like I used to! This might have even been worth a smidge if you were at least around to appreciate it, to _see _it, but you're not interested! You only care about money, it's all you care about, it's worth more to you than I've ever been!"

At this, Beetlejuice objected just as heatedly back. "Now waitaminute, Lyds, you know that ain't true!"

"Isn't it?" She retorted, a tear spilling freely down her cheek. "I was happy with what I HAD. I don't need a flashy car or flashy clothes, not here, they're worthless to me! I HAD Doomie, I HAD the cape YOU gave me to travel here with, I HAD **YOU**. I didn't need this! I didn't even want this! I did this all for you!"  
>Beetlejuice felt a shard of ice knife through his heart, just as it simultaneously began to feel warm. Choked, he struggled to respond cohesively. "Lydia…"<p>

Lydia hated crying. Worst of all, she hated crying in front of people. Worst of all still, she hated crying in front of _him_. Her voice was so thick with emotion that it was becoming indistinct. "You were my best friend! My hero! I _trusted _you, and you did _this_ to me?" Motioning to herself vaguely, having released most of her pent-up anger, she gave Beetlejuice a half-hearted push out of the way. "Well, I…. I have _nothing_ more to say to you."

She dashed quickly to the door.  
>"I'm going <em>home<em>. And if the network or the label asks where I am, tell them to STICK IT. I'm _not_ coming back."

Beetlejuice's lips parted as he extended a hand after her. She didn't turn to look at him as she left, not once.  
>He wanted to chase after her, it was the right thing to do, the gentlemanly thing to do, but there were things that had to be fixed, and on her behalf.<p>

In the back of the room, Monitor began to applaud. "My, my, Mr B. J., sir, what a _diva_ we have on our hands," He chuckled softly, his facial-screens reading, respectively: 'What' 'A' 'Prima' 'Donna'.

Beetlejuice didn't have the capacity to jump on the offensive right away; he felt too hollow and numb with pain. "Monitor…. that contract…"  
>At this Monitor laughed outright, loud and fitfully. "Oh no, Beetlejuice, Lydia's contract is iron clad. She is a <em>celebrity <em>now. Ahuhuh, we've got our program line-up for the next _month – _replays of all her NTV appearances. From child-star to leading-lady, depicting her climb to the femme fatale she's become."

"Lydia isn't a 'femme fatale'!" Beetlejuice objected, incredulous.

Monitor was sat in a large armchair, rubbing his hands together greedily. "Whatever you want to call it, Beetlejuice, erhuh, she's our maiiin feature." Now he held up his hands in a 'picture this' gesture, his faces bright with wistful energy. "The face of NTV. Even Creep Industries are after her. Ahuhuh, she's the best thing to happen since Elvis passed over. We're not letting her go anywhere,"

"Well you're doin' a poor job because she just ran the heck out of here." Beetlejuice said. It didn't come out like one of his normal jokes, but more like a guarded threat. He narrowed his eyes. "You're not confinin' Lyds on my watch. Over my _dead_-dead body."  
>Monitor appeared unaffected.<br>Beetlejuice's temper hit the roof. "Think about it, Monitor! She's not gonna have that voice or those looks forever. She'll get old, and saggy like all the ol' breathers, and then she won't be much of a star to you then."

That piece of wisdom _did _successfully make Monitor think. He cupped his chin, musing aloud. "Oh... her attraction _is_ that she's alive, that's true. Young, striking, available…"  
>"Exactly,"<p>

"If she ages much more, she won't be much use to us,"  
>"Just what I was sayin',"<p>

"... But these things can always be _arranged_. Mr B. J., sir," Monitor's tone sounded as though he were alluding to a salon appointment, but Beetlejuice caught his real drift. The affect on the ghost was almost instantaneous.  
>Beetlejuice's skin turned scarlet red, neck stretching upwards and onwards from his body to support his rapidly expanding head. His pupils rolled back, two yellow slits glaring at the seated Monitor as his dry locks of hair writhed and fire whistled out from between his lips as he breathed. Two talons emerged, claws razor sharp. A deep, throaty voice growled: "If you so much as <em>think<em> about laying a finger on her –"

Monitor didn't cower as per Beetlejuice's expectation. He even went so far as to yawn in his indifference. "The Neitherworld might prefer her as a tragic star." He shrugged, still smiling.

Beetlejuice, at this point, was so big that he filled the room. He raised his leg ready to crush Monitor underfoot like the parasite he was. "You touch a hair on her head and I'll–"  
>Monitor, sat almost amiably in Beetlejuice's shadow, finished his sentence before he could. "And you'll be fed to the sandworms, Mr B. J., sir."<br>At the mention of sandworms, Beetlejuice seemed to develop a puncture, and his near-demonic form burst, revealing him stood, quite normally, in the middle of the room.

Monitor stood up, brushing himself down. "Now, we'd like our starlet back, if you please,"

Beetlejuice wasn't ready to give up yet. He grabbed ahold of Monitor by the lapels of his suit, managing to tug the executive close despite him dwarfing Beetlejuice considerably  
>"No!" He snarled. "I'm at the end of my rope here, Monitor! Lydia isn't doing any more shows, any more appearances, nadda! I don't even think she's plannin' on coming <em>back<em> here, and there's nothing you or that network of yours can do about it!"

Monitor looked down at Beetlejuice's hands, then back up at his face, obviously disgusted. "She'll be back. And if she doesn't fulfil the terms of her contract, Beetlejuice, _you_ will suffer for it,"  
>"I'm warning you, Monitor–"<br>"And I'm warning you. If I don't have Lydia back in this office before noon tomorrow, your afterlife won't be worth living."

Despite 'living' not being quite the right choice of words, Beetlejuice understood, and understood even more clearly when, out of the corner of his eyes, he caught sight of a pair of police officers just itching to use the batons they were hefting. The officers were stood in the open doorway, ready to escort him off the property just as the NTV security guards had the day before.

Beetlejuice wasn't afraid of the police, but he was afraid of what they might do if he were arrested. He couldn't go to jail_,_ he couldn't be locked away from Lyds.

Giving Monitor one last murderous look, Beetlejuice snorted and teleported himself back to the Roadhouse.  
>No, there was something much more important than getting revenge on Monitor right now.<br>He had to talk to Lydia.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Considering I'm a child of the nineties, I am struggling to find songs from the 90s for Lydia to sing, so, please, forgive me for jumping into the future as far as the 'soundtrack' is concerned. Like I've said before, the year is never explicitly stated within the series so liberties have been taken. I'm sure you can guess what the song is, haha.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N  
><strong>Warning. This chapter has some sexual content, though it's the next chapter you'll _really_ have to worry about.  
>(… I've been waiting ages to say that.)<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seventeen<strong>

Back home at the Roadhouse, Beetlejuice's first port of call was to head to the freestanding mirror in his room, only to find that upon peeking in at Lydia's side her gothic black-and-violet bedroom was empty. Her bed was neatly made, room otherwise untouched. A robe discarded haphazardly on the floor was the only indication that she'd gotten home safely. After a moment Beetlejuice managed to make out the resonance of running water, the sound filtering between dimensions to reach his ears. Lydia was bathing, washing off the slime from her last performance.

On that train of thought, Beetlejuice wondered, briefly, how things were back at the Nose Bowl now that it had been announced to the audience that Lydia would not be coming back on stage. He quickly decided he didn't care.

Floating in circles, legs popped, chin cupped in hand, Beetlejuice began to plot.  
><em>Me and Lyds have gotten out of contracts before, no problem. <em>He mused internally. Then, glancing up at Lydia's portrait on the wall, his mood took a turn for the worst. She looked so happy in that picture, so carefree. It hurt to think that the last look she'd thrown him was one of utter distrust that had bordered on heartbreak.

He floated down onto the edge of his bed and perched there, feeling sorry for himself.  
><em>… Oh. Yeah. Lyds isn't even talking to me right now. Not that I can blame 'er.<br>_He ran his hands through his hair distractedly, wishing the ground would swallow him. Why had he signed that contract again? For a snack, for money? Had he really been so blinded by his hunger and greed that he'd disregarded Lydia's wellbeing?  
>His heart burst out of his chest and yelled down at his stomach contemptuously. "Well, I hope yer happy!" It snapped before returning.<p>

A knock on the door of his apartment startled him out of his thoughts. Floating over, he opened up the door. Jacques was stood there, smiling crookedly. "_Bonsoir_,"  
>Beetlejuice looked tired. "Now really ain't the time, Jacques,"<br>The skeleton's eyes widened. He hesitated in the doorway. "Did it… not go well?" He asked carefully.  
>"You could say that,"<br>Jacques pondered this for moment before imploring Beetlejuice without words to come downstairs, ushering him with his hands. Scratching the top of his head, Beetlejuice sighed and followed him down.

Once in the living room, Jacques motioned to the TV vaguely. "They 'ave announced Lydia's concert will not be continuing this evening. You succeeded there, _non_?"  
>Beetlejuice, still gloomy, simply shrugged, perching mid-air as though seated. "That was Lyds' doing… I think I just made matters worse." Then, after a brief pause, he snivelled. "… She <em>hates<em> me, Jacques,"

Jacques looked back up at him sceptically. "Lydia could never 'ate you. Though,_ mon Dieu, _we cannot say that for many others,"  
>Beetlejuice shook his head, pulling out a patched handkerchief from his pocket before blowing his nose loudly. "You didn't hear what she said to me, how she <em>looked <em>at me. I really screwed up,"  
>"Don't you always?" Jacques sniffed, much to the ghost's annoyance. Beetlejuice practically clawed at his hair in frustration. "All right, all right! I get it already! Yeesh, you weren't supposed to <em>agree<em>."

After pocketing the hankie, the two then remained silent for a good long while. They both began to think. It was Jacques who cleared the air first; voicing what was on both of their minds.  
>"We need to get Lydia out of zat contract," He said, cupping his chin in wonder.<p>

Beetlejuice snorted as though he'd just stated the obvious. "Yeah. So? What'd'ya have in mind exactly?"  
>"It is not impossible!"<br>"I know _that_. We got me outta a situation with that… Hack Torso director-guy before. All we gotta do is make it so they'll _want_ to drop Lyds. But… how?"

Silence.

Finally, Jacques snapped his fingers, or tried to, but in the absence of skin his bones made a dull, clacking noise. "Perhaps Lydia should become a bad role model?" He suggested.  
>At this, Beetlejuice turned up his nose. He was, by no accounts, one to think clearly in advance, and his elevator didn't always go up to the top floor, but he had a strong feeling that even if Lydia were to change her image, become <em>bad<em>, then that might do NTV a favour.

The two tossed ideas back and forth for a while without success.

Lydia could try farcing a show, but there was always the possibility that that wouldn't change much. Even if she were to 'lose' her talent, she was an icon now. She could be dubbed over, and either way it had been made clear before that Monitor valued ratings above quality. After tonight's performance there was always the chance that nobody would pay attention to her voice anymore, whether she sounded like a train wreck or not, as long as she was flashing enough skin.  
>What was it that Monitor had said was her appeal? Her youth? Her looks? Her… <em>availability<em>? Beetlejuice had a feeling he hadn't meant that Lydia had an empty schedule.  
>Only two of those three factors were realistically adjustable, and even then he found it difficult to imagine a way in which they could ruin Lydia's looks temporarily yet successfully. After all, only permanence would affect her contract; didn't all stars have bad days?<p>

Beetlejuice began to feel all the more anxious, and, despite himself, let this same anxiety show on his face.  
>As Jacques glanced up at him then, the skeleton realised to himself that he'd never seen so much <em>care <em>in Beetlejuice's face before. Having known him since Neitherworld high school, he'd always had a gut feeling (despite not having organs) that he knew Beetlejuice's emotions better than even he did. Except this time, _everybody_ seemed to know what Beetlejuice didn't: his feelings towards Lydia.

Recalling this and factoring it into his thinking, Jacques came up with a viable idea.

"If… If Lydia were to have a lover, her fans would be broken-'earted," He said, as discreetly and casually as he could.  
>"You think?" Beetlejuice replied. He sounded disinterested. Feigning a cool, oblivious expression, he looked at his fingernails.<br>Jacques pushed on before Beetlejuice could stop the idea developing. "_Mes oui_!" He cried, louder than usual. "She'd be off-ze-market! It would work _tres_ _bien_ if it were a nobody. Or even a nobody-somebody! ... _Oui_, well-known but 'ated. Someone that would make her fans say: _What is she thinking_? It would ruin 'er image!"

Beetlejuice rolled his eyes. "Great, Jacques. And where are we gonna find someone like that?" He snorted. "Y'think we can force Lydia to pretend to be with someone she don't wanna be?"  
>"I was thinking–"<br>"That's the stoopidest thing I've ever heard!"  
>"But, Be-etlejuice–"<br>"It wouldn't put people off!"  
>"But–"<p>

"She'd have to be with someone _real _off-putting for that to work,"  
>Beetlejuice dropped down to the floor with a thud. He didn't mention that the idea of her being with someone (<em>else<em>) was off-putting enough.  
>He didn't want to hear anymore of this dumb idea anyway, and so made to turn to the door. He didn't get far enough.<br>Jacques was tired of the ghost's naivety. "_Oui_," He said, folding his arms and staring at Beetlejuice pointedly.

The ghost cocked an eyebrow. That look Jacques was giving him was beginning to make him feel uncomfortable. "What?"  
>"I know of someone," Jacques pressed.<br>Beetlejuice both rolled his eyes for the second time and let out a tired, exasperated breath. "Jacques, we're not setting Lydia up for the sake of media,"  
>"<em>Non<em>, we are 'setting Lydia up' for her sake. _Zut alors, _maybe it'll be for ze best!"  
>Now Beetlejuice's temper began to flare. "What are you talkin' about? I am <em>not <em>playing matchmaker, no way! I'm not gonna watch some snot-nosed brat run off with my-" He stopped. Coughing to clear his throat, he loosened his tie from around his neck. "Er, I mean, with Lydia,"

Jacques glared. "Come out with it,"

"What's _that_ supposed to be mean?"

Sighing, a hand coming up to his forehead, Jacques shook his head in disbelief. He may as well have been talking to a child, not a man in his mid-thirties. If Beetlejuice was really that short-sighted then there probably wasn't much hope for him after all, but, as a friend, Jacques had to try.  
>He deliberated for a moment longer whether to just let it go, whether to avoid getting involved, but decided that he couldn't be that cruel. He took a breath, then said matter-of-factly: "Be-etlejuice… you're in love with Lydia,"<p>

Beetlejuice seemed to flinch. His pupils retracted to the size of pinpricks, but that was the only acknowledgement he gave Jacques to begin with. He quickly stuck a finger in his ear, apparently trying to clear it of a wax build-up, because the next thing he said was: "'xcuse me?"

"It is obvious. Why not just tell 'er how you feel?"

Eventually the past two sentences drilled themselves into Beetlejuice's thick skull.  
><em>In love… with Lydia?<br>__Love?  
><em>_LOVE?_

Beetlejuice stuck his tongue out. "Blarghhhhhh. _L-Love_? 'Love' is—is- _gross_. A-A-And not in the g-good way!" He stammered, hands flailing, face scarlet.  
>Jacques wasn't going to let him deny his way out of this one. "Love is not 'gross'. Is Lydia ''gross'?" He challenged.<br>Beetlejuice shifted where he stood uncomfortably, taking his time to decide his answer. "No…" He said in a tiny voice. Point in fact, she was the only tolerably 'nice' thing in his entire afterlife.

"You said it yourself, you do not wish to see her with someone else,"  
>Beetlejuice gulped.<br>"You like spending time together, you are _always _together. And, though I cannot understand why, she seems to feel something for you,"  
>His pupils re-dilated, almost becoming puppy-dog-like in their size. <em>She… feels somethin' for… for me?<em>

Jacques, however, was still firm and reprimanding in tone. "If you do not tell her how you feel, you will lose 'er, Be-etlejuice. She will grow older, she will meet someone, marry zem, move away and you will never see 'er again,"  
>This speculative truth hit Beetlejuice like a ton of bricks. He took a wounded half-step back, even going so far as to clutch his stomach as though he'd been struck. "Bwah…"<p>

Jacques sighed. "Lydia needs to be with someone so unpopular that it makes 'er untouchable. If you confess to her… _you_ could be ze unpopular boyfriend. And not pretend, like I 'ear you 'ave been doing with Lydia's _famille_, but _you_, Be-etlejuice."  
>Beetlejuice swallowed, trying to keep a nonchalant, calm head on his shoulders. He chuckled almost nervously. "… Run that by me again?" He requested dumbly.<br>Jacques lost his cool. "I said_ you _should be the one to take Lydia 'off-ze-market'!" He cried. "You are unpopular in ze Neitherworld; Lydia is the only one I know of who tolerates you–"  
>"Thanks, Jacques," The skeleton couldn't tell if Beetlejuice was being sarcastic or not.<br>"–and you two are close. It is not such a stretch of ze imagination that you could become more than friends,"  
>Giving up, feeling as though he'd done his part for the evening, he shook his head and began to walk back to his room. "Be 'onest about how you feel for a change, <em>mon ami<em>." Jacques said over his shoulder, before leaving Beetlejuice alone to think it over.

* * *

><p>In the Deetzs living room, Charles and Delia were dressed ready to head out. They looked as though they'd just stepped out of a game of <em>Cluedo<em>, which was just as well as they were attending a murder mystery party within the next hour. Waiting for Danforth and Zipora to arrive, they were sat trying to idly pass the time.  
>Strange noises in the house, however, had awoken Charles' paranoia.<p>

"Delia- Delia, there really _is_ someone upstairs," He tried for the third time, shaking his wife's arm whilst she read through a copy of _Art in America_. It was an old edition, from around the time they'd first moved in, and it featured her on the cover. Funny, Delia couldn't really remember much about that time.  
>She looked up tiredly. "Please, Charles. It's just the two of us, dear,"<p>

Charles didn't think either of them had turned the shower on and off, and he could still hear footsteps padding around upstairs. "But... what if Lydia came home?" He prompted.  
>Delia sighed heavily, putting down her magazine. "If it means <em>so much <em>to you, Charles, then I'll go and investigate. But _Lydia_ is on _vacation_ with Betty,"

Once upstairs it became apparent that Lydia _wasn't _on vacation with Betty. She was sat in her room, apparently having snuck in, and she looked as though she'd been crying.  
>After consoling her as best she could, which wasn't a talent of Delia's, she returned to Charles to give him the news. "Our daughter's home," She said incredulously.<br>Charles supressed the urge to say 'I told you so'. "I-Is she okay?"  
>"No, I don't think so. She and Betty had an argument,"<br>Charles didn't know how to react to this. He drummed his fingers on his armchair. "Do you think we should cancel attending the party?" He asked, trying not to sound too enthusiastic.  
>Delia didn't read too much into his tone. She looked torn. "Well, I asked her that, but she said we should enjoy ourselves,"<p>

"I don't want to leave her alone..."  
>Outside the Victorian townhouse, an expensive car rolled up the drive and gave one loud beep.<br>Delia shook her head, taking up her purse. "Charles. She's a grown woman, let's not smother her,"

* * *

><p>After half-an-hour, the conversation with Jacques had slipped out of Beetlejuice's mind like water off of a duck's back. That wasn't wholly due to denial; what was the point in denying now? No, it was because he had far more pressing things to worry about – cheering up Lydia came first.<p>

Beetlejuice trudged slowly back up to his bedroom, and once there glanced at the mirror in the corner. Currently it reflected the contents of his room, but as he approached it that same old transition occurred and it became a window into Lydia's world once again. This time she _was_ in her room, but judging by the looks of her she hadn't calmed down any. She was sat on the edge of her bed, blow-drying her hair, eyes swollen and forlorn, her lips turned down into a frown. She'd changed into her nightshirt, the same pyjama shirt she'd worn the first day back from college that she'd spent with him.

Beetlejuice gulped before tentatively rapping on the glass.  
>"Babes,"<p>

She didn't even twitch, as though she'd expected him to appear at any moment and had resigned herself to it.  
>"Don't, Beetlejuice," She replied shortly, turning her back on him.<p>

"I need to talk to ya," He tried.

Lydia hesitated, deliberating her answer. "… I don't want to talk to you," She said finally, almost painfully.  
>Beetlejuice's stomach dropped. He wasn't surprised by her answer, but he'd been dreading it nonetheless. What if she refused to talk to him ever again? What if she never gave him a chance to explain? He couldn't let that happen.<br>"Lyds, come on. Gimme a break,"

She whipped around, eyes shining with trapped wetness, fury resurging. "So you can take me back to the Nose Bowl? So you can collect your money? Is that it?" She demanded.  
>Beetlejuice held his hands up. "No! Lyds, I don't <em>care <em>about that stuff. I'm not here because of Monitor, or the money, I'm here because of you, babes,"

"You could've fooled me."

"I didn't _know _about the contract, okay? I'm an idiot! Look, lemme over to that side." He leant as far out of the mirror as he could without being called, motioning to the floor, begging with his eyes.  
>Lydia's face changed, enough to give Beetlejuice hope that she might let him through. She dashed those hopes when she shook her head tiredly. "… not right now, Beetlejuice,"<br>"Lydia, I'm trying to apologise!"  
>"You were always bad at apologising,"<p>

Whether or not she'd noticed, she'd already said his name twice. Beetlejuice felt that same urgency he always did whenever waiting for the magic trio; butterflies in his stomach, the feeling of a clock slowly ticking backwards to 0:00. Countdown. He was desperate, and locked his fingers together as he pleaded. "My name, babes. Just say it once more? For me?"  
>She just looked at him.<br>"… _Lyds, _you're killin' me here!"

Lydia hesitated, lowering her hairbrush. She deliberated for a moment longer before breathing out his name softly.  
>Relief forced Beetlejuice to let out a breath he'd been holding since she'd said his name the first time. He drifted weightlessly out of the mirror, then settled his feet firmly down on the carpeted floor, approaching her slowly.<p>

He hated seeing her upset. He hated knowing he'd _made _her upset.  
>"Lemme explain–"<p>

"You _really _don't need to,"  
>"Lydia!"<p>

The young woman shook her head, now stood up at the end of her four-poster and gripping onto one of its posts, facing the large French windows sadly. "I meant what I said, Beej, I have nothing to say to you right now. You betrayed me, and I'm hurting from that. How do you expect me to forgive you so easily?"  
>Despite having 'nothing to say' she <em>was<em> talking to him, and that was a good sign. Beetlejuice stepped forward, voice almost uncharacteristically soft. "I'm not askin' ya to, I just want ya to hear me out. You said this was all about 'money' to me, babes, but d'ya really think I care about money over you? _You_? Lyds, I didn't do this for the _money_!"  
>He tried to reach out to her but she shook him off. She practically snarled at him when he came too close. "You expect me to believe that?" She snapped. As her anger increased so did the likelihood that she would cry. Every time he tried to reach out to her, to comfort her, she batted his hands away. She didn't want his pity, she didn't want him to lie to her anymore, to pretend everything would be okay. His words didn't mean anything; there wasn't much he could say that she would believe now, let alone that could fix this.<p>

Beetlejuice threw his hands in the air in disbelief. Gone was the softness in his voice, his pride wouldn't let him sit still and be quiet when there were words to be said. "Oh, come on, what d'ya want me to _say_? I'd never lie to ya, Lyds! You're my best friend, for crying out loud!"  
>"Well maybe I don't want to be your 'best friend' anymore!" She screamed back at him.<br>Beetlejuice recoiled in horror, eyes wide. He could practically hear an awful tinkling, as though his heart were made of glass and it had just shattered into millions of little pieces. He tried to talk around the blockade in his throat, tried to laugh. "You- You don't mean that…"

Lydia, contrary, didn't like that reaction; it sounded too much like an adult patronising a child. She shoved him, hard. "Yes! Yes, I do! I can't live like this anymore, Beej! I can't stand to be around you when you can't even see what's right in front of you–"  
>"<em>Hey<em>!" Beetlejuice's eyebrows drew together in anger. He wasn't going to take this verbal abuse, even from Lydia.  
>"That you're too blind to realise that people have <em>feelings<em>–"  
>"Yeah? So? I have feelings too!" He cried, one hand balled into a fist, thumb cocked at his chest.<p>

Lydia let out a loud, humourless laugh, shaking her head fervently. "No, you don't! You're the most immature, insensitive person I have ever met!"  
>"Lydia!"<br>"How is someone supposed to know how you feel when you don't even know yourself?"  
>It wasn't the need to stop her. It wasn't even a confession. Heck, it wasn't even <em>planned<em>, it was purely impulse. Instinctively, Beetlejuice reached out to her.  
>In the next instant, Lydia felt his hands cupping her cheeks, and something else too. His lips were locked on hers.<p>

It felt as though someone had pressed a livewire to her nerves. She melted, and all of her anger seemed to dissolve along with her. Lydia's stunned-to-wideness eyes drifted closed.

Before she could press her lips back to his, Beetlejuice withdrew for breath, the shock of what he'd just done sinking in. Their lips still agonisingly close, Lydia didn't give him enough time to apologise. She grabbed his tie and pulled him back into a deep and fierce kiss.  
>Beetlejuice's eyes widened, before slowly slipping shut.<br>They remained like that for what felt like a lifetime, before untangling reluctantly.

Panting, fingers still curled around his tie, Lydia's cheeks burned. "Please don't apologise," She whispered.  
>"Okay," Beetlejuice sounded almost drunk.<br>"I'm sorry for yelling,"  
>"You had reason to,"<br>They were still merely millimetres apart, their breathing accelerated.

"What did ya mean, Lyds?" Beetlejuice breathed against her lips huskily. "About me not knowin' how I felt?"  
>Lydia now held onto his shoulders, patting them in her absent-minded daze. She bit her lip, false-started, then took a calming breath and tried again. "Well… how do you feel about- me?" She asked carefully.<p>

Beetlejuice's tongue knotted itself up inside of his head of its own accord, too afraid of what she might say if he told her the truth, afraid to hope she felt the same, wanting desperately to skirt the issue.  
>"Blarhghahh–" He tried to speak, but failed, and instead began grappling with his tongue desperately.<br>Lydia took this hesitation the wrong way, and smiled sadly. "See? You still don't know," She said, pulling away.

Beetlejuice untangled his tongue finally, and pulled her back to him. "Lyds, I already told ya,"  
>The young woman looked up at him, suspicious. "... You did?"<br>He cupped her chin, tipping her head up to his before kissing her firmly again.

Pulling back, he displayed a lop-sided crooked grin. "What does that tell ya?" He asked smoothly.  
>"It tells me you're no good with words," Lydia said, but she was smiling, cheeks pink. "But… actions do speak louder,"<br>The two remained standing there face-to-face, heads tipped forward, almost nuzzling one another.

Then, after a very brief pause, Beetlejuice looked anxious. "Er… your turn, babes," He prompted.

Lydia let out a ripple of laughter and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing close in a brief but intimate embrace. "Beetlejuice… I love you,"  
>He swallowed hard, his face afraid to trust. "Y-You do?"<br>"_Yes_. I… I never told you before because I was afraid you didn't feel the same way. I was afraid of losing what we had."

Beetlejuice, stunned but smiling, tried to say something, only to find his tongue had tied itself up once again. Lydia laughed as he wrestled with it once more, untying it and straightening it out. After clearing his throat, he said: "Shucks, babes… you'd never lose me." Then he paused. "Lydia, I…"  
>"Don't,"<br>"Bwuh?"  
>"Don't say it. Not if you don't mean it. Not if you don't believe in it,"<p>

He swallowed thickly, a shaky hand coming up to his head, trying to fight the urge to pace to and fro. He withdrew restlessly before sitting on the edge of her bed. Lydia pulled up the chair from her desk to sit opposite him.

"Don't get me wrong, babes, I ain't ever said it before because I ain't ever been in love before. Maybe that's why I was too stupid to say it to ya sooner. Or… too stupid to notice."

For some reason, Lydia felt relieved upon hearing this. Sat hunched forwards, hands clasped neatly in her lap between her legs, she tipped her head on one side. "You've… never been in love before?"  
>"Never."<p>

Lydia bit her bottom lip, fidgeting in her seat. She parted her legs slightly, glancing up at him. "But… you've been with a woman before?" She pressed, eyes half-lidded coyly.

Beetlejuice's eyes bugged.  
>'Been with a woman'? Did Lydia mean… <em>sexually?<em>  
>His eyes zoned in on her ajar legs. Feeling his face redden, he averted his gaze guiltily.<br>_Oh boy, has she grown up…_

He cleared his throat, at first unsure of how to answer. He soon decided there wasn't anything to be unsure about, much as he hated to he just had to tell her the truth.  
>"Well, yeah… when I was alive." He admitted reasonably. "But I ain't ever settled down, babes. I don't know when I decided it, heck, it was probably decided <em>for<em> me – I ain't ever been very good with women. I guess I thought I should be a lone wolf since…" He raised his fingers in an air-quotes gesture, sounding sarcastic at first, but then drifting back into seriousness. "I wasn't gonna find 'The One', the one that every sucker talks about. Not in that life anyway. I never thought I'd find a woman who I could tell 'em I loved 'em and mean it. So I… guess this is my way of saying you're The One, Lyds."

Lydia almost choked on the air she breathed. This admission warmed her through and through.  
>Before she could accuse him of being too sappy however, Beetlejuice leant forwards, one hand up. "But woah. Woah. Lemme say this first off. Lydia, I love ya, but you said it, I ain't good with words. Knowing me, I won't be saying it every day, and I won't always say the right things. I ain't perfect. I'm not the kind of guy you deserve. I ain't romantic –"<p>

"Speak for yourself; that was almost romantic." Lydia teased.  
>Beetlejuice made a gagging noise. "I don't have a romantic bone in my <em>body!<em>" He cried, tugging at his suit and shirt, pulling them down. Instead of his chest, his skeleton was visible. "See?"  
>Lydia laughed, the same way she used to laugh at his jokes as a child, totally carefree and secure. She pulled him up from the bed, still laughing. "And I'm not going to go looking for one. B. J., I love you the way you are. Just be you; that's enough for me. I'm not asking you to change, I don't want that."<p>

Beetlejuice smiled brightly. Then a dark cloud seemed to pass over his eyes and he looked concerned, nervous and insecure. "… Not that I'm trying to change your mind, but, are you sure, babes? I'm a lot older than you."  
>Lydia laughed again. "I'll catch you up." She said simply.<br>Beetlejuice grinned wide, and closed the gap between them, tipping his head down to press his forehead to hers. "You've already had a good head start,"

She gripped onto the lapels of his jacket, batting her dark eyelashes. "That's right. I'm a woman now."  
>"Ya got that right, babes. And yer <em>my<em> woman now,"  
>Their lips collided. Lydia wrapped her arms around Beetlejuice's neck, whilst his left hand entangled in her long, ebony hair, and his right held her close, cupping her hip.<p>

Lydia lapped at his bottom lip once, then parted her own, inviting him in. The ghost complied. His striped tongue darted out eagerly and slipped into her mouth.  
>She moaned into the kiss, and Beetlejuice's reaction was instantaneous.<br>As she felt him press against her thigh, her hands moved to his shoulders. Lydia began to tip them both backwards towards the bed.

Beetlejuice pulled back from the kiss reluctantly, his pointed nose tip-to-tip with hers, panting heavily. "Lyds…"  
>"Don't stop," She breathed.<br>"That's just th' thing. I don't think I'll be able to,"  
>"That makes two of us," She pressed her lips to his again, before trailing kisses down his chin, jawline and then to his neck, where she nipped lightly.<br>He tipped his head back and groaned.

"L-L-Lyds… this is _me_. Y-You could have anyon–"  
>Lydia, quick as anything, pressed a finger to his lips, stopping him. "I don't <em>want <em>anyone else. Now stop talking–"  
>His mouth zipped up, literally.<br>"–And give me your hands,"  
>Beetlejuice didn't think she'd appreciate his wit or pranksterism at that moment. He held out his hands, still attached to his wrists.<p>

Lydia took hold of them, rubbing the back of one with her thumb, and navigated them to her chest.  
>"<em>Mmmf<em>?"  
>She left his hands there, smirking up at him, before unzipping his lips for him. The 'juiced zipper disappeared.<br>The shock soon left Beetlejuice's face, and was quickly replaced with a hungry, eager grin. His hands squeezed.  
>"Aah!"<br>"You asked for it, babes," He crooned, gently fondling her through her clothes.  
>Lydia narrowed her eyes seductively, gripping hold of his tie while her fingers teased at the knot.<br>"Go ahead. Make my millennium,"


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N  
><strong>As FF (no longer?) accepts explicit content, I'm hosting the smut on a blog site I made just for this this occasion – so **please** **PM me for the link to the** _**uncensored**_ **version**. I check my PMs/emails daily so I'll get back to you pretty quick. There's no shame in asking, I don't judge; I wouldn't have written it if I didn't want fans to read it and if I didn't read that kind of thing myself.

For all of you who'd prefer not to have your childhood raped, the (semi-) clean version is below.

I've attempted to go some way towards linking up the movie and the TV show; hopefully it'll work in the  
>cartoon-verse when all of it's explained, but that won't be done in this story. (I plan to do a sequel)<br>Please, please, this _isn't_ the whole chapter; this is just the clean version, hence why it's so short. I would still appreciate if you left a review here rather than my blogsite, but if you want to do both I'd love that just as much! When leaving a review, please tell me which version you read and, er, prefer? :P Thank youuu.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eighteen<br>**_Clean version _

Stood at the foot of the bed, the new couple stared at each other hungrily.  
>Lydia puckered her lips in playful invitation, to which Beetlejuice smirked lecherously and leaned in for another kiss. Before their lips met, the door to Lydia's bedroom swung open.<br>"_Pumpkin_?"

The two wheeled around at the sudden intrusion. Beetlejuice shrieked. He vanished, leaving a trembling Lydia to pick up the situation, her face scarlet as she tried to straighten out her nightshirt.  
>"Oh. H-Hi, Daddy," She said as sweetly as she could, smiling in a way that could break her face if she held it for too long.<p>

Charles was stood in the doorway, peeking into her room cautiously. He was dressed in a Victorian tailcoat and top hat, shakily holding onto a cane. He looked incredibly uncomfortable in this garb; Lydia figured Delia must have wrestled him into it. "W-What was that noise?"  
>"Just the chair, Father," Lydia lied, tucking her desk chair back under her bureau.<p>

Charles made to step into the room. He looked concerned. "A-Are you all right, Lydia? Your mother said you had an argument with Betty…"

Lydia recalled the story she'd fabricated to explain why she'd came home early. She brushed her hair out of her face, trying to act natural.  
>Without losing eye contact with her father she focused on the section of room she could see, wondering where Beetlejuice had zapped himself to or what he could be possessing. The search proved fruitless.<br>To her father, she shook her head, waving her hand. "Oh, don't worry about that, haha. Betty just called. Everything's okay now,"

Charles paled. Lydia had been his ticket out of the party.  
>"Are you sure?" He asked. "Would you rather I stayed home?"<br>"No!" Lydia cried quickly.  
>Her father blinked.<br>Shaking her head, she laughed nervously. "Uh, I mean, no, ahahaha, have fun at the party. Really. Don't worry about me,"

Sighing, seeing that he had no choice but to submit to Delia and attend, Charles readjusted his top hat. "Well… if you're sure, but call if you need us," He went to leave. Then he stalled, squinting at her. "Pumpkin, you're really red in the face. Are you running a fever?"  
>Lydia pressed a hand to her forehead to 'check her temperature'.<br>"Nope, no fever." She said brightly, waving with her fingers. "Have fun,"

"R-Right." Charles hesitated for a moment longer before closing the door behind him.

"_Don't wait u-uuup_!" Delia called in a singsong voice up the stairs.  
><em>I wo-on't, <em>Lydia thought gleefully.

As soon as her parents, aunt and uncle called their goodbyes, closed the front door and revved the engine to take off into town, Beetlejuice reappeared beside her. Hands in his trouser pockets, he glanced at Lydia casually. "So… what's on the cards for ol' Chucky and Delia tonight anyway?"  
>"Oh, they're going to another one of Delia's themed parties," Lydia said with relish, before turning to him.<br>Beetlejuice was already grinning.

Neither of them were going to let her parents' interruption ruin the mood.

"Great! So, where were we?" The ghost encouraged.  
>Lydia crept close, seductively slipping her arms around his waist. "I know where I'd like us to be," She breathed in response, before slipping her roaming hands within his suit.<br>Beetlejuice fought back the urge to groan as she undid his tie and slipped it out from around his collar, movements slow and sultry. In the next instant they were kissing again.

It was funny how little resistance there was. Gone was the hesitation, the anxiety; they seemed to slip into these new roles naturally, from best friends to lovers.

There was no doubt, not anymore.

* * *

><p>A chorus of warbling Blue Jays filtered through the thick glass panels of Lydia's bedroom windows, and the unclosed curtains allowed the fierce morning sunlight to brighten the dark, gothic room from corner to corner.<p>

In her bed, bare, sore and completely satisfied, Lydia's eyes steadily opened. Not daring to stir in case she woke her still-sleeping lover half-beneath her, half-beside her, she remained tucked up next to him, resting her head on his chest. She could hear nothing; he had no pulse. Still, he felt warm, for a dead guy.

After Lydia remained lying still for no more than a few minutes, Beetlejuice mumbled to himself, coming out of his deep sleep into a lighter, fragile one. All it took was for Lydia to roll onto her side next to him to wake him up.  
>"Mrm…" The ghost stirred, eyelids creasing as he tried to shut out the sun. Eventually he cracked one eye open.<p>

Lydia waited for him to look at her, half-expecting him to freak out as he recalled what had happened the night before, anticipating regret, denial. But, when Beetlejuice caught her eyes, he smiled groggily. "… Mornin', babes,"  
>Lydia felt as though the sunlight had seeped into her bones. She draped an arm over him, pressing into his side. "Morning, B. J.,"<p>

At the feel of her well-formed chest squashed against his side, Beetlejuice hid a perverted grin by nosing her forehead.  
>"I could get used to this," He mumbled into her unruly raven hair, planting a kiss on the crown of her head.<br>"Too late," Lydia replied softly.

They both led like that for what could have been hours but what was probably only a good ten minutes, spacing out, eyelids drooping low, smiling to themselves.

Eventually Lydia rolled onto her back, staring ceiling-ward, whilst Beetlejuice slotted an arm around her shoulders.  
>As Lydia's thoughts wandered, reflecting on the night before, she thought about what their friends might say about their new relationship. She didn't think the age difference would bother many Neitherworldians, but if her parents were to find out the <em>truth <em>or even a version of it, that 'B. J.' didn't exist and that she was actually dating 'Mr Beetleman' - it didn't bear thinking about. Her parents would be horrified, would expect her to want to date someone her own age. Their Lydia couldn't be into _older men_.

Something suddenly struck her as outrageously funny.  
>Out of nowhere, Lydia began to laugh hysterically, laughing so hard that tears sprung to her eyes.<br>Beetlejuice nearly jumped with surprise. He looked at her as though she'd just sprouted three heads. "Bwuh– b-babes? What's the joke?"

Lydia leant into him, barely able to get the words out around her giggling. "Aahahaha! I'm a 'grave robber'! _Literally_! Ahahaha!"

At first Beetlejuice just stared at her. For a man with a witty sense of humour, he didn't always get Lydia's punch lines. Then, the penny dropped.  
>"<em>Hey<em>, just how old d'ya think I am?" He demanded, folding his arms petulantly.  
>Lydia smirked at him, recovering from her laughter. "Over ten years more than me, <em>old man<em>," She teased, nudging him, testing to see if he'd rise to the bait.  
>"<em>Lyds!<em>"  
>"I'm kidding, I'm kidding,"<br>Discerning from her expression that she was, indeed, just messing with him, Beetlejuice decided to give her a taste of her own medicine. "All right, kid, that's enough outta you." Lydia feigned a wounded look as he grinned down at her. "Now, we gotta lay down some rules,"

"Wasn't it you who said there should be a law _against _rules?"  
>One finger raised in the air, Beetlejuice thought about this for a second. He came up with nothing. "Er… got me there, babes,"<br>"Don't let me stop you,"  
>"Okay. Rule number one. You call me 'old man' again and there'll be trouble," He winked to show he was kidding. Mostly.<br>Lydia grinned.

"Rule number two." Now he leant close, no longer hiding the lustful smirk that played its way across his face. "Much as I wanna make ya scream my name, not in threes, okay, Lyds?"  
>The young woman blushed.<br>After pausing for a moment, Beetlejuice waved a hand vaguely. "Just... say 'B. J.',"

Lydia's lips turned down into a slight frown, but her face was nevertheless sympathetic. "You can't blame my instinct to call your name out like that, Beej. 'B. J.' takes a bit more of an effort to say when I'm in that kind of state,"  
>At this, Beetlejuice managed to look both positively uncomfortable and also highly amused, so much so that Lydia sat up a little. "What is it?"<br>"Oh, nothin', nothin',"

Watching him carefully but noticing from the way he looked away that he wasn't going to speak up about whatever was on his mind, she shrugged her shoulders. "Okay, well. Rule number three," She said for him.  
>He glanced back, intrigued. "Which is?"<p>

"No beetlejuicing me in the bedroom,"  
>The way she said it, slow, firmly and tiredly, made Beetlejuice chuckle. "What ever can you <em>mean<em>?" He asked, mock-innocently, even glancing heavenwards. A halo popped into existence above his head.  
>Lydia knew he knew exactly what she'd meant. Knowing Beetlejuice, however, she thought it best to clarify. "I <em>mean <em>no growing extra appendages without telling me, no shapeshifting, no alter egos, no… no literal translation jokes–"  
>"Would I do those kinda things?"<br>"Yes,"

Beetlejuice plucked the halo and threw it like a frisbee. As soon as it hit the wall it vanished in a puff of smoke. "Fine. Rule number four,"  
>"Shoot,"<br>He rolled to face her, cupping her chin in his hand. "Yer mine. This life and the next,"  
>Lydia's heart swelled. Deliciously comfortable in this intimate position, she leant closer to him as though answering a challenge. "I wouldn't have it any other way," She swore.<p>

Beetlejuice smiled at her, stroking her chin with his thumb absently before lying back with a sigh. "Well.. I s'pose we'd better find a way of telling Chucky and Delia about us,"  
>Gooseflesh broke out over Lydia's arms at the very idea. "No!" She gasped, crying out in a voice that was hardly above a whisper.<br>Beetlejuice looked at her, quirking an eyebrow.

"… Aahaha, I mean, uh, why should they know? They think I'm dating B. J. Beetleman. H-He's 'you'."

Beetlejuice cocked his head on one side. He spoke slowly, almost patronisingly, as though she'd hit her head and he was talking her out of a concussion. "… Uh, but he's not. Remember? I'm Beetle- Beet- Be-" The more he tried to say it, focusing on saying his _name_ rather than just the words that made it up, the more futile it became. Soon he was stuttering, caught on the first letter alone. After a few more tries he gave up. "Fuck it,"  
>Lydia, grasping at the new subject that had presented itself, ran with it. "Will you never be able to say your own name?" She asked, nosing the side of his neck.<p>

Again, that same look appeared on his face as it had when he'd presented 'rule number two' to her. Lydia couldn't place it, but it was almost… dry irony.  
>"Lyds, we talked about this," He said tiredly.<br>Lydia bit her lip. "I know," She glanced down at her right hand, fingering the band that she always wore on her ring finger, musing to herself. It was funny, she'd worn this ring for almost seven years now and yet it still fit snugly, as though it had grown along with her.  
>Beetlejuice, noticing where her attention had drifted to, motioned to her hand. "Why'd ya never take that off?" He asked, tone unreadable.<br>"Because you gave it to me," Lydia answered simply.

He looked concerned, face lining somewhat at the mere memory. "Yeah, but not fer the right reason." He said, sullen. Then, realisation dawning on him, the temperature of the room seemed to drop a few degrees. He shifted uncomfortably. "… That's why you won't tell yer folks, right?"

Lydia opened her mouth but didn't know whether she was planning on dodging the question, telling the truth or lying outright. Shaking her head, she glanced back down at her ring. When he had first given- well, forced it on her, she'd have all too gladly flung it back at him. He'd _frightened_ her, had disturbed her; he hadn't been the man she knew now.  
>Deciding on the truth, she spoke slowly. "… What if they remember, Beej? We're different people now, but they won't see it that way, I know it. And besides, I'm sure the Bureau will have something to say about it if Mom and Dad were to find out about you again. I'm the only one that can know, remember?"<br>"But babes–"

"Besides, we have more important things to worry about right now."

"Like?"

Lydia sat up, the sheets slipping and gathering around her waist. "Like what are we gonna do about Monitor?"  
>"Murhh?" Beetlejuice looked up at her, the arm that had been wrapped around her shoulders now left abandoned, spread across her pillow.<br>He snorted. "Oh. _That_ scuzz-bucket," Frowning, his anger wanted to resurface. It wouldn't come, he was too secure and comfy right now to have his bubble burst.  
>Letting out a breath, he slipped his hand to her hip. "... Maybe ya shouldn't come back to the Neitherworld for a while, babes. At least until it's all blown over. <em>I <em>can sort out _Monitor_,"

Lydia frowned, shaking her head. "No, we need to fix this soon. The Neitherworld is like a second home to me, B. J., I don't want to feel like I've been… _banished_,"  
>"Don't be silly, Lyds. I'll stay with ya here, I got us into this mess,"<br>"Beej, we can't run and hide from our problems; that doesn't make them go away." She rolled over to look down at him, poking his nose playfully. "You should know that by now,"

He shrugged, relaxing back into the bed. "Well, what's the plan?"

Lydia chewed the inside of her lip slightly as she thought. What did her schedule this week involve? "I... have a live video shoot tomorrow. What if I do so badly that the ratings fall through the floor?"  
>"Badly how?"<br>"I don't know…" She mulled it over.

Beetlejuice thought about what Jacques had said last night. He cleared his throat, now folding his arms behind his head in proper reclining fashion. "Y'know, Lyds, us bein'... well, 'together' now.."  
>She looked at him.<br>"... I ain't the most popular guy in the Neitherworld,"

"You can say that again,"  
>"'That again',"<br>Lydia rolled her eyes, smiling. "And your point is?"  
>"My point is-" Beetlejuice tried to remember Jacques' exact words. "If I'm taking ya 'off the market', I'm the kinda guy that'd make ya unpopular just by association, know whut I mean?"<p>

Lydia looked hurt on his behalf. She frowned, sadly. "I wish you wouldn't say that,"  
>"All I'm sayin' is that yer fans would wanna know what you were thinking,"<br>"So… you're saying we should go public in the Neitherworld? … And—you'd be okay with that?"  
>"Why not?"<p>

Lydia hesitated. "You- think that might help end my contract?" She sounded very doubtful.

Beetlejuice's expression became one of malicious eagerness. "Yeah, if we shove it down their _throats_," He said with emphasis, sneering.  
>A lightbulb went on in Lydia's head. Now it was her turn to grin mischievously. "Beej, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"<p>

"Uh… probably not," Actually, he'd been thinking about how well a beetle burger would go down right now. That, and Lydia had a goddamn lovely chest.

"My music video. We should give them what they _think _they want to see… right up until they see it,"

"Buuuut we get to 'juice Monitor in the process? Right, babes?"

Lydia smirked back at him. "Oh, not _just_ Monitor, I can assure you." With that, she leant close, resting her upper half on his. "So. Here's the plan..."

Whispering, even though there was no one to overhear, the two began to plot.

* * *

><p>At the <em>Daily Tomb <em>newspaper offices, just before noon, Lance Righter was at his desk, struggling to find a shred of news thrilling enough to occupy the front-page spread of tomorrow's newspaper.

In journalism, bad news was good news, but in the Neitherworld there wasn't often much tragedy and rarely enough excitement to make the headlines. So, the _Daily Tomb _had a love-hate relationship with a certain Ghost with the Most – he provided a lot of their front-page articles whenever he came up with a new scheme or whenever he got himself into trouble, which was quite often. Recently, however, the newspaper had covered many stories about the new celebrity of the hour: Lydia Deetz. Today's paper, in fact, had the headline 'Deetz Ditches Nose Bowl' after the star's tour had been prematurely cancelled yesterday evening due to her having disappeared between intervals.

Fresh out of news, Lance was about to give up and start chasing wild threads when the yellophone on his desk began to ring. Despite picking it up hastily, he spoke without enthusiasm; he mustn't sound too keen after all. "_Daily Tomb _newspaper,"  
>"<em>Is this the head reporter<em>?" The person on the other end of the phone was a female New Yorker who spoke in a high, singsong voice.

"Yes, this is Lance Righter speaking,"  
>"Well, Mr Righter, I have a sto-ry for you,"<br>He hesitated, fiddling with a pen absently. "Who am I speaking to?"  
>"Uh." Muffled talking. Whoever was on the phone had pressed it to their body and was discussing something with someone in the room. Finally she came back on the line. "Ginger,"<p>

"Can you make this quick, Ginger? I have other commitments-"  
>"It's about Lydia Deetz."<br>Lance froze.  
>"– And why she walked out on her show,"<p>

Getting out his notepad, Lance's eyes twinkled.  
>"You have my <em>undivided<em> attention," He crooned into the receiver.

It sounded as though he had his story.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N:** Sorry I was a little slower to update; I've been ill and having a bit of a rough time lately. Buuuut, I hope this chapter was worth the wait!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Nineteen<strong>

Before the clock struck for midday, and after having left a note for her parents explaining she and Betty had decided to give the vacation another go, Lydia strode into Monitor's office.  
>Despite still being on cloud nine after the night before she tried to let the memories of the evening's events slip from her mind. This <em>had<em> to look believable.

Forcing an expression on her face that was half-stony and half-forced apology, she smiled crudely. "Monitor,"

The NTV executive had both hands filled with phones, a copy of today's _Daily Tomb _spread out on his desk. He was panicked, flustered and squirming in his office chair, but as soon as he caught sight of her stepping over to him he dropped everything. Literally. The phones fell with a series of rings and thuds.  
>"Lydia!" Monitor stepped around his desk, laughing anxiously, almost falling to his knees in front of her in his relief that she'd returned. Despite all of his tough talk the evening before, he was one step away from grovelling. Lydia had time to wonder why she'd felt so threatened by him yesterday if he was all talk.<br>She tossed her dark hair from her shoulder, arms folded. "You were asking for me,"

Monitor removed a handkerchief from his pocket and began patting his brow with it, as though he'd physically been perspiring. "Erhuh, y-you caused quite a stir yesterday,"  
>Lydia was unsympathetic. Firmly in diva-mode, she quirked an eyebrow. "You could've told them I lost my voice between the intervals,"<br>Monitor's hand stopped feverishly patting. He looked positively staggered.  
>Why <em>hadn't <em>he told them that?

Lydia glanced to the side, her folded arms now slipping, criss-crossed, around herself. "Monitor, about the contract–"  
>Before she could continue he raised an index finger and began shaking it briskly. "Ahuhuh. No, no. Just serve your time and play along for now, Lydia. If all goes well then, ahuh, <em>maybe<em> we can strike a deal,"

Lydia winced. 'Serve her time'? He made it sound like she'd been given a jail sentence.  
>She wanted to wipe that smug look off of his face, but she couldn't, she wouldn't, she had to act for now however much it pained her.<p>

Clearing her throat, she shrugged her shoulders, trying to stay in character. "That's just it." She said with a nod. "… I've decided that I'll do whatever you ask of me,"

Four pairs of pixelated eyes widened. When Monitor had registered what it was she'd just said, he steadily began to clap. "Brill-iant! Ahuhuh. D-Does this mean the live video shoot is still on for tomorrow?" He asked eagerly, heading back over to his desk to check her upcoming schedule, currently buried under piles of phones and newspapers.

Lydia concealed a sly grin. "Yes. Yes, it does." She confirmed. Then she raised her head, trying to appear remorseful. She stepped over to his desk as well, placing her fingers daintily on the edge of the table-top. "Uh… I take it the suite at the Gorefester is–?"  
>Monitor replied without looking up. "Still yours. Ahuh. For the week,"<br>The Gorefester would still have an anti-Beetlejuice policy, of course, but that was okay, it was all in keeping with the plan for now.

Lydia tapped the desk with her fingers as she straightened. "Great. Well…" She began to retreat out of the office, clasping her hands behind her back. "I'll... be there if you need me,"

She clicked his double office doors shut behind her.

* * *

><p>Beetlejuice had spent the morning thus far letting Jacques and Ginger in on his and Lydia's get-out-quick scheme. With the <em>Daily Tomb <em>newspaper contacted, his two housemates had begun to telephone all the major Neitherworld papers, _The Afterlife_ and the _Daily Plummet _among them.

Beetlejuice, in the meantime, had bigger fish to fry. From the comfort of his own couch, he fulfilled his part.  
>There hadn't been many things he had consistently loved about the Neitherworld, but that it had bestowed on him his 'juice' he would be eternally grateful.<p>

* * *

><p>A pair of identical envelopes, both obnoxiously bright and instantly noticeable, appeared in two female ghouls' apartments, materialising in their corridors as though pushed under their doors or through their letterboxes.<p>

The first to notice the unexpected mail was ex-cheerleader Ariel Cartwheel.  
>"Huhhh?" Bending to pick up the envelope, Ariel scrutinised the letter and ticket that then fell out of it into her palm, suspicious.<br>The printed letter read:

DEAR MADAM,  
>IN APPRECIATION OF YOUR RECENT SERVICES, WE WOULD LIKE TO INVITE YOU, AND OFFER YOU A BACKSTAGE PASS, TO:<br>'_**SLIMEDUNK! - **_**THE GET-YOUR-OWN-BACK SHOW**_**'**__.  
><em>THE CRITICALLY ACCLAIMED GAME SHOW, WHERE REVENGE IS A DISH BEST SERVED MOULD.

THIS VIP TICKET ENTITLES YOU TO A FRONT-ROW SEAT IN THE AUDIENCE AND AN UP-CLOSE AND PERSONAL TOUR OF THE SHOW'S INNERWORKINGS.  
>PLEASE MAKE YOUR WAY TO THE NTV STUDIOS BUILDING, STUDIO 13, TOMORROW AT 4.30PM.<br>- COURTESY OF THE NTV NETWORK.

Ariel's suspicion gave way to rude complacency.  
>"Hmph, about time that Monitor paid me some compensation," She said, fanning herself with the ticket.<br>She'd never heard of _Slimedunk! _before, but then Ariel didn't watch much TV. Still, she liked the sound of it; she absently wondered how the show would work, and who would be the unlucky victim.

Blissfully unaware, she called Dawn, checking to see if she'd received a pass too. When Dawn confirmed that she _had _received one, they both arranged to travel to the studios together.  
>Neither of the women had no way of knowing that Monitor, let alone an NTV staff member, hadn't authorised their passes, just as neither of them were to know that <em>Slimedunk! <em>was a show that hadn't once aired on television. Yet.

* * *

><p>Having stayed overnight at the Gorefester Hotel, by the afternoon Lydia was en-route to the NTV Studios to shoot her music video – the first live music video in the history of the Neitherworld. One of Monitor's 'great' ideas, which would (hopefully) also prove to be his downfall.<p>

As the limousine pulled into the studios amidst squealing fans, Lydia wondered why she wasn't being booed for retreating from her performance the other night. She supposed her fans had made up their own version of events in their heads, and had made up an excuse on her behalf for leaving.

Ushered out of the vehicle by a tight-knit security unit, she was swept into the building without excessive fuss. Nevertheless she was still exhausted by the time she got inside and was left to herself in her own dressing room.  
>Stood, fighting the urge to pace back and forth, Lydia cupped her chin in her hand, nerves racking her.<br>This _had _to work. She couldn't cope like this anymore, at the beck and call of NTV and the record label, without the freedom to live the life she was used to living.

Looking at herself deeply in the wall-mounted, bulb-studded mirror, she didn't even jump when a figure appeared suddenly beside her. At the sight of his crooked grin and unkempt suit she relaxed, smiling easily at his reflection.  
>"Boy, am I glad to see you."<p>

Beetlejuice smiled back at her.  
>"Nothing's gonna keep <em>us<em> apart, sweetface." He crooned.

They turned to look at each other. The atmosphere in the small room seemed to _fizz_, as though gently vibrating. The sensation was focused around the two of them, something not quite tangible or visible to the eye, but definitely there, and definitely real; almost like an aura of love for one another. As both of them were too stubborn and not at all sappy, they weren't the type to act overtly sweetly to each other. The confessing had already been done, after all, so their feelings would just have to seep into the air, unspoken. Nothing more needed to be said. A mutual agreement about their new relationship had been reached without words.

"Here," Beetlejuice handed her an earpiece before rubbing the tops of both of her arms, a half-hearted attempt at trying to comfort her. "Y'ready?"  
>"I'm… kind of nervous." Lydia admitted, her hands coming to rest on top of his wrists. "B. J., what if this doesn't work?"<br>"Then you say the B-words and we jump ship, babes."

The way he'd said it, as though this were going to be the easiest thing in the world and, if it didn't work, wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, filled Lydia with some confidence, but not enough. "I guess we have no choice."

A wall-speaker shaped like a pair of lips let out an ear-splitting audio-feedback squeal before beginning to talk. "_Lydia, please make your way to the studio set_,"

She looked at Beetlejuice, smiling queasily, before they both began making their way over to the door.  
>"Well… this is it." The young woman breathed, balling her hands up into fists at her sides. Taking one last breath to steel herself, she then marched out of the dressing room towards her set.<br>As soon as Lydia stepped out of the door, her ghostly lover disappeared in a flash.

* * *

><p>The studio was bustling.<p>

Stood in front of a black wall dressed in an equally black shift dress that fell to her knees, stark against her pale skin, Lydia was staring into the TV-cameras that weren't yet rolling. She was trying to keep a straight and steady face, not wanting Monitor to catch _any_ glimpse of her true intentions, despite the fact that he was focused on directing the NTV film crew and speaking to Violet, who, in turn, was busy talking into a mobile phone and doing her best to ignore him. After a few more minutes of this, Monitor finally stepped in line with the camera crew, hands triumphantly on his hips. "Ohohohoh, ready, Lydia?"  
>She nodded back at him. "Ready,"<p>

A cameraman began counting backwards from ten.

"Ahuh, ju-ust like the Nose Bowl," Monitor pressed, smiling broadly.  
>Lydia nodded again, though she had no intention of singing the cover she'd ended the interval with, let alone performing half of the choreographed routine.<br>She glanced quickly at Violet. The record producer's usually firm face managed to lift into a genuine smile.  
>Lydia had time to feel the warmth from this smile, feed off of the strength it gave her when her hidden earpiece gave a short burst of white noise. Then: "<em>Here goes nothin', babes. It's <em>Showtime,"

Lydia got into position, and just in time too; the cameraman was no longer showing any fingers.  
>Lights in the studio low, Lydia felt every eye on her from her position in front of the wall, facing it, arms up and out, palms pressed flat to its surface as though she were waiting to be frisked.<br>The music began filtering through the studio, guitars and high-pitched strings wailing from high to low, synthesized electropop.  
>Monitor's brow furrowed. This wasn't the song from the Nose Bowl. This wasn't a song he'd heard at all.<p>

As the intro grew near to its climax, thick white stripes began to climb up the dark wall in columns. And then, on cue, Lydia turned her head sharply to look back over her shoulder, smiled deliciously, and began to sing.

"_Baby, can't you see? I'm calli-ing._"

Just before she turned her hand slipped from its position to a lower point, seeming to peel something invisible away from the wall.

"_A guy like you_–- _should wear a warning_-"

It wasn't invisible, it had just been very well camouflaged. As she made to strut towards the edge of the set, she draped it around her shoulders: a black-and-white striped jacket.

Monitor opened his mouth to object but instead glanced furiously at Violet, only for the record producer to give him a stern look and mouth '_be quiet_'.

A cord dropped down beside Lydia, ending with a yellow triangle emblazoned with a skull and crossbones. Lydia pulled the cord, smiling almost flirtatiously. Even without editing and without her lips moving, the singing continued.

"_It's dangerous... I'm fallin',"  
><em>

She held out her palm, and a small vial fell into it, its contents neon lime-green. It might have been representative of poison. It also might have been representative of slime. Whatever the contents of the vial, Lydia knocked it back, and began to swoon.  
>As though drinking the formula had conjured someone or something, the air around her began to ripple.<p>

Pulling at the lapels of the suit jacket as though craving to undress, Lydia took up the lyrics of the song herself once more, tipping her head ceiling-ward.

"_There's no escape… I can't wa-ait,  
><em>_I need a hit. Baby, give me i-it–_"

Hands appeared, disembodied hands with red-tipped fingers floating in the air. Slowly, these hands began stripping the jacket from her as though fulfilling her wishes.

"_You're dangerous. I'm lovin' it_..."

The hands were at her hips seductively, trying to turn her. Lydia did as they silently requested and spun on her heel. As she turned, like a magician's assistant, in a flurry of colour her outfit changed from the dress into a red cami and black hot pants.

Singing in a falsetto, she began to float.

"_Too high, can't come do-own_,  
><em>Losing my head,<br>__Spinning round and rou-und." _

Lydia danced mid air, twisting her hips and gyrating them in semi-belly-dance fashion, her singing voice becoming husky.

"_Do you feel me now?"_

Floating back down to the ground, she turned three-sixty-degrees. When she moved it became apparent her hot pants were now adorned with two initials printed boldly on the back - 'B' on one side and 'J' on the other.

Monitor wasn't an idiot. He began to charge towards the set. Before he even took two steps, a security officer restrained him.

The ratings gauge teetered, midway between climbing and falling.

Lydia started to sing the chorus, blowing a kiss in the direction of the cameras, performing what she could of the choreographed routine for the song she had sung at the Nose Bowl.  
>Onto the second verse and then the bridge, she gave the pre-ordained signal. Picking the jacket up off of the floor, Lydia held it out at arm's length. It solidified, and was immediately filled by a figure that appeared as if out of nowhere. Beetlejuice grinned so wide and mischievously that the cameras got an all-too-good shot of his rotten, green teeth.<p>

The ratings dropped in public confusion and horror.

As the pre-chorus instrumental strummed Lydia eyed her best friend, companion and lover with a fondness that could never be faked. She took hold of his tie and tugged him towards her.  
>Lips only centimetres apart, she sang the chorus for the second time, eyes narrowed as she stalked him across the floor of the set.<p>

"_With a taste of your lips I'm on a ri-ide…  
><em>_You're- toxic, I'm– slipping un-der.  
><em>_With a taste of poi-son paradi-ise,  
><em>_I'm __**addicted**__ to you; don't you know that you're toxic?"_

She leant in to kiss him, but teasingly withdrew and began to walk away from him, turning her back.  
>Not content with this, Beetlejuice theatrically stretched out his arm, coiled it around her waist like a tentacle and pulled her towards him once more.<p>

"_And I love what you do; don't you know that you're toxic?  
><em>_... Don't you know that you're __**toxic**__?"_

As the instrumental began, Lydia did something they _hadn't _pre-arranged. Loosening his tie, she began to unbutton his shirt from the collar-down.  
>Beetlejuice's eyes widened, his face becoming a strange cocktail of fear, shock and guilty pleasure. He made to glance towards the cameras, gulping, but Lydia stopped him by cupping his cheek in her hand and forcing him to look down at her. She stopped unbuttoning his shirt midway, rested her hands on his collarbone and pressed her lips to his quick.<p>

The ratings immediately plummeted through the floor.

"_Taste of your lips – I'm on a ri-ide…" _

The song continued even with their lips still locked, Lydia's own voice synthesised into a backing voice, more natural than it's real world counterpart.

In response to the falling ratings, Monitor managed to wrestle free from the security guard. Hopping madly from foot to foot, he began to both hyperventilate and wring his hands. "No, no, no, no…"

Beetlejuice and Lydia untangled, only for the ghost to raise his thumb and point his index finger at Lydia, 'zapping' her. Now she was wearing a different outfit, a black-and-white striped cocktail dress.  
>Hand still held in its handgun gesture, he blew the 'smoking barrel' of his index finger smugly, something he'd grown fond of doing. It almost made him feel like the James Bond of the Neitherworld.<p>

"_You're- toxic, I'm– slipping un-der.  
><em>_With a taste of poi-son paradi-ise,  
><em>_I'm addicted to you; don't you know that you're toxic?"_

Slicking his hair back, it was Beetlejuice's turn to stalk Lydia across the set as she began to sing the last set of choruses.

Lydia doubled back to the wall, where Beetlejuice proceeded to cage her in, his hands flat to the surface above her shoulders and either side of her head.  
>A cameraman let out a gasp as his camera swung away on its dolly in a slow arc towards the wall to capture the two of them from the side. From then on the camera, its dolly mysteriously striped in appearance, responded adequately to all the choreographed movements on set.<p>

"… _I'm addicted to you; don't you know that you're toxic?"_

Lydia slipped beneath Beetlejuice's arms and out of his clutches, darting playfully across the set. When he caught her and took hold of her hips from behind she grinded back against him.

"_Intoxicate me now, with your loving now. I think I'm ready now…" _

"I _know_ I'm ready now," She ad-libbed, half-singing, half-speaking.

The ratings gauge fell through the floor, preoccupying Monitor, who was too busy watching it sink into the basement, on his knees before it.

Beetlejuice turned Lydia gently but forcibly. Facing him, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her forehead to his, singing the closing lines of the song.

"_Intoxicate me now, with your loving now. I think I'm ready now-" _

They grinned at each other and kissed.

By now, the gauge had finally fallen to: 'even-the-couches-aren't-watching-this-rubbish'.  
>The cameras ceased recording and the studio lights shut off.<p>

An endless silence seemed to pass before finally, somewhere in the large unit, a phone rang. Monitor fumbled for his mobile yell-phone, nervously. Pulling it out of his pocket and accepting the call, he began to visibly panic. "Y-Y-Yes? Oh. Uhuhuh, h-hello, Mr Creep, sir. Y-You don't want Lydia for your promotion campaign anymore…? Erhuh…"

The phone beeped angrily.  
>"E-Excuse me, I have another call." He said all together too quickly, before jabbing a button on the phone's keypad. "Uh, hello? Monitor, speaking? Ah! Mr Special Assistant, sir! Ahuhuh! W-What a surprise… O-Oh the ratings? The ratings, ahuh… Y-Yes, well, I- uh… C-Can I call you ba-ack?"<p>

Without waiting for a response from his boss, Monitor dropped his phone in a fit of panic. He glanced feverishly from side to side before kicking it down the crevice that the ratings gauge had created in the floor.  
>"What am I going to do-ooo?" He panicked.<p>

The lights began to lift once more, and with the light, he caught sight of a very smug duo stood on the stage-set.  
>Beetlejuice, one hand around Lydia's waist, the other waving obnoxiously, yelled: "Yo, Monitor! How's yer ratings looking?"<p>

A switch flipped in Monitor's circuitry.

"Erhuhh, y-you two!" He charged towards the circular platform the two were stood on, lunging after them, hands extended ready to throttle them.  
>As soon as both of his feet met the platform, Monitor felt peculiar, as though the altitude had suddenly and significantly changed, and he was racing at a million miles a second to a new location.<p>

The set behind him was... _disappearing_.  
>Suddenly and inexplicably blinded by white light, Monitor gasped and recoiled. Turning to face the source of this overpowering light whilst trying not to lose his balance, he squinted around only to find he could see nothing, not even Beetlejuice or Lydia.<p>

Then, a repetitive jingle began to play, echoing through what he presumed was still the studio, though it felt as though he were somewhere else entirely.

"Weeeee-elcome to _Slimedunk_! – the get-your-own-back show!"

_Wuh- What's going on here_? Monitor gulped, cowering in the spotlight that was firmly trained on him.

Beetlejuice, stood on the fringes of this spotlight, brandished a microphone and jeered into it. Now he was almost completely unrecognisable from his usual self. His teeth were now large, straight and gleaming, his blond hair short and slicked, his face long, thin and all together sleazy. He'd worn this guise once before, hosting _Ghoul of My Dreams_. It was only fitting he'd wear it again at Monitor's expense.

"Well, folks, I'm your host, Upchuck Foolery, and this is my _gore_-geous assistant, Ba-abe Jester!" 'Upchuck' threw out his arm in the direction of a girl on the other side of the platform. Lydia, dressed in a harlequin outfit with her face so heavily daubed with clown-like makeup that she was unrecognisable, stepped forward and curtseyed.  
>'Upchuck''s face broke into a wide grin. "Ladies and gentlemen, do you know what time it is?"<p>

The audience was already cheering and whooping in some small measure. Then, before them, a towering monster that seemed entirely composed of hair appeared, holding aloft a sign in each hand. The first sign read 'APPLAUSE', and the other: '"IT'S SLIMETIME!"'  
>The audience's volume only increased, repeating the words on the second card at the top of their lungs.<p>

In response to the audience, Lydia nodded over-eagerly, theatrically, and stepped over towards Monitor, holding a card out beside him that read: 'THE VICTIM.'

Beetlejuice clutched onto his microphone tighter, grinning maliciously. Oh, he was enjoying every _second_ of this.  
>"That's right, folks! Let's head to the Squeal Wheel for the verdict!" He cried.<p>

Delirious, Monitor almost lost his balance. '_Squeal Wheel?' _What was going _on_ here?  
>The spotlight was still so strong on him that he could hardly see anything, his confused voice lost in amongst the applause.<p>

'Upchuck' spun a large multi-coloured wheel that took up most of centre-stage, divided by numbered segments. The pointer ended on the highest number.  
>As soon as it did so, snakes began to slither their way across the stage before wrapping around Monitor, binding his legs and arms and also constricting around his head, muffling his cries of anger.<p>

'Upchuck' and 'Babe' appraised the wheel, eyebrows raised.  
>"For crimes of manipulation, dirty-dealing, and slave-driving, the Squeal Wheel is calling for a level <em>ten <em>griming! Any objections in the court?"

"_I object_," A clipped business-like voice cried out.  
>Beetlejuice and Lydia both hesitated, their stomach's sinking. A heckler was the last thing they needed.<br>An agonising series of seconds passed before Violet stood up in the audience. The cameras panned around to get a good view of her response.  
>Pocketing her mobile yell-phone, the record producer smiled almost sadistically. "... I feel it should be an <em>eleven<em>,"

Lydia grinned. She had no way of telling if Violet knew that Upchuck and Babe were really Beetlejuice and Lydia, but she was glad all the same that Violet was helping the plan along.  
>'Upchuck' threw back his head and cackled, rubbing his hands together. "Right with you, sister! Any words from the defendant?"<p>

"Mmfnnn!" Monitor glowered angrily with one screen, while what could be seen of the others around coils of snake read "GET" – "ME" – "OUT".  
>Beetlejuice turned to face the camera, smirking mischievously, his eyebrows slanting upwards. "That's what they <em>allll<em> say." He sang.

The small section of floor Monitor was standing on rocketed into the air, becoming an elevated platform with a clear divide down the middle. Where he had been standing only a moment before, an enormous vat appeared out of the hole in the stage.

Pointing towards the black cauldron-like container, Beetlejuice took great pleasure in introducing it. "On the menu today is putrefied swamp muck _aaaand_ toxic sewage,"

'Upchuck' gestured to his co-host on the other side of the stage. 'Babe' was standing beside an ominous lever in the floor.  
>"Pull that lever, baby,"<p>

Lydia did as commanded, pushing the stick from A to B.

The tangle of snakes uncoiled from around Monitor and slithered free, not wanting to be slimed along with him, before the platform beneath the NTV executive split cleanly down the middle. With Monitor now free to audibly scream, he began to freefall into the cauldron of gunge.

The squelching, slapping sound that echoed out of the vat as soon as the network mogul reached its contents made Beetlejuice let out a thoroughly satisfied sigh.  
>The audience went crazy.<p>

Turning to face his crowd, the disguised Beetlejuice tried to sound and act charming. "Now... we're gonna need a little audience participation this evenin'," He announced casually.  
>Lydia stepped forward, swaying her hips as she moved.<br>"My byootiful partner here will pick the unlucky vic- uh, _volunteers_,"

Taking this as her cue, Lydia strolled to the front row of the audience. It took her no more than a minute to pick out two women who were trying their best to avoid the eyes of both 'Upchuck' and 'Babe', one with chestnut brown hair and the other flame-red.

Beetlejuice caught Lydia's eye and smirked.

As 'Babe' directed the two women towards centre-stage, in front of the Squeal Wheel and the cauldron in which Monitor was still screaming for help, 'Upchuck' appeared beside them. "Congratulations, girls. You finally made it onto the big screen! Now it's time for the big _green _to make it onto _you_!" He cried.  
>Ariel and Dawn had time to let out tangled screams before a tub of slime appeared mid-air and overturned on their heads.<p>

Lydia's lips quirked up into a smile.  
>Despite her motto that revenge should never be personal, she'd been a Jealous Woman. As a rule, Jealous Women should not be messed with.<br>She soon became somewhat afraid that she was enjoying this far too much, however, and so her face smoothed right out again.

Sagging under the weight of the slime, Dawn glanced up furiously, her black eyes like coal-pits. "You can't do this to us!" She shrieked.  
>Regardless of the concern that 'audience participation' appeared to mean that the unlucky volunteers would receive the same fate as the victim, the audience were enjoying this spectacle thoroughly.<p>

Beetlejuice sneered. "You're riiiiight. Tarts without _jam_? What were we _thinking_?"

A second tub filled with a sticky, deep red substance fell from the ceiling.

"AAAGHHH!" Ariel and Dawn screamed, before finding themselves coated head-to-toe with the glutinous conserve.

Monitor began climbing out of the gunge-trap, struggling to lift himself. "B-Beetlejuice! Ahuh… I'll take you to the cleaners for this! Erhuhuh! Y-You'll be fed to the sandworms, you'll–"

Lydia said her first words as 'Babe' for the entire show, the spotlight falling on her. "Monitor... you're _fired_," She said in a voice that was both firm and sweet.  
>Just as Monitor gripped onto the edge of the vat, facing the audience, a flamethrower appeared beside him. It belched out a stream of fire, blackening him to a crisp.<p>

Beetlejuice answered the audience's hushed, anxious silence with: "Well, what d'ya know? A toasted marshmonitor." And, as easily as that, he cracked everyone up.

Dawn and Ariel's squeals of fear gave way to whooping gasps as 'Babe' motioned for them to step away from the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we'd like to thank these two for being such good sports," Beetlejuice exclaimed in his best game-show-host voice.

Looking at each other, the two women wanted to laugh uneasily in their relief at having been spared further torment, but kept it repressed. Just as they began to scuttle off of the set, Ariel turned and flashed Lydia a deathly glare. "You won't get away with this,"  
>'Babe' smiled, unaffected. "Oh? You all signed disclaimers before entering the studio, right?" She prompted sweetly.<p>

Ariel and Dawn's eyes widened.  
>They had. In fact, every member of the audience had signed a run-of-the-mill agreement that they wouldn't sue in the case of personal injury or humiliation.<br>The two women shut up and stayed shut up, before whimpering and moaning as they helped themselves off of the set.

The audience cheered.

'Upchuck' saluted the camera, winding the show down to a close. "Well, listen up! Next time on _Slimedunk! _we'll have yet another victim for you. Our prosecutors will be… the Sappy Face Ghouls,"  
>On cue another spotlight appeared, this time on a young trio stood just off-stage in a triangle formation.<p>

The first Sappy Face Ghoul, short, stout and doe-eyed, stepped forward. He spoke up, clutching his club hat in small, chubby fists, voice high and sickly sweet. He even managed to make his eyes shiny with tears. "The truant officer accused us of avoiding school,"  
>Then, the tallest young ghoul stepped forward, hands clasped together as though begging the audience. "It's not fair that we spend all of our afterlives in s-school. Who wants to go to school for an <em>eternity<em>?"  
>Finally, the leader of the trio, Slimy, stepped forward, toying with the plait in her emerald hair, crocodile tears streaming down her face. "We're being punished because we died before our time," She whimpered.<p>

'Upchuck' and 'Babe', now standing side by side, placed their hands on their hearts, bottom lips wobbling. They whimpered, eyes growing almost large and shiny in sympathy just as the studio audience simultaneously let out a collective and resounding 'awwww'.  
>Beetlejuice pretended to wipe his eyes, but 'Babe' got there first, theatrically dabbing them dry for him. "J-Justice will be served next time on–" Recovering, 'Upchuck' grinned. "–<em>Sliiiiime-dunk<em>!"

The studio set filled with deafening applause as the audience stamped their feet in the rows of seating.

The ratings gauge climbed to new heights, and as it reached the levels of 'the best we've got' the cameras quit recording with one final shot of 'Upchuck' and 'Babe' smiling toothily. As soon as the program was over, the guise of Upchuck Foolery and Babe Jester melted away, and Beetlejuice and Lydia stood there grinning at the cameraman.

Jacques straightened from behind the device, giving them a bony thumbs-up. "_C'est magnifiques!"_

Their triumph felt short-lived, however, when they noticed a bearded figure standing in front of the audience. The man was short in stature with balding auburn hair and a bulbous head, and at the sight of him Monitor wheezed as he found the strength to roll himself out of his slimy prison. "M-Mr S. A., s-sir…!" He gasped, falling out of the vat and almost upturning it in his haste. He was practically unrecognisable beneath the layers of slime and ash. He stumbled towards his superior, erratic in his movements. "Restrain these two, erhuh! T-They're _monsters_!" He cried, jabbing a finger furiously in Beetlejuice and Lydia's direction.

After a moment's hesitation, the Special Assistant to the Head of the Network stepped forwards. Monitor sneered as he waited for his boss to direct security to the duo. Only… he didn't. The Special Assistant lunged at both Beetlejuice and Lydia– and began to furiously shake both of their hands.  
>"They're <em>geniuses!" <em>He cried excitedly, deciding to ignore Monitor completely. "This is the best show that's ever aired! Look at the ratings!"

Monitor's face contorted with anguish and disbelief. "But– But…!"

Lydia, polite, shook her head. "Thank you, Mr Special Assistant, sir, but ours was a one-night-only production,"

The small man stared up at her with jaundiced yellow eyes, face pale. "_What_? No, you can't! I'll pay you, I'll pay you money like you've never _seen_ before, just keep it going! We can't lose these kind of ratings!"

Beetlejuice became starry-eyed, his mouth falling open into a large grin. "Money…?" He drooled, eyes practically turning into dollar signs.  
>Lydia stood on his foot. "<em>Beetlejuice.<em>"  
>"Y'oww! Wuh? Oh…Y-Yeah. Ahahahaha," He chuckled apologetically, smiling as innocently as he could at Lydia.<br>_I didn't forget. Really.  
><em>"Sorry, S. A., but... me and the babes are out,"

S. A. began to panic, and so Lydia jumped in with her suggestion, quick. "Bu-uuut if Monitor agrees to end our contracts…"  
>Monitor folded his arms angrily. Ginger had since suspended herself from the ceiling on a thin thread and had taken to wiping his screens clean. "Ohoho, I <em>see<em>,"  
>"… then I'll sign the show's concept over to NTV."<p>

This thrilled S. A., his eyes lighting up. "Absolutely!" Practically dancing on the spot in his eagerness, he turned to Monitor. "Well, you heard the girl, Monitor,"  
>"Ahuhuhuh…. I, uh…" Monitor squirmed miserably, perspiring.<br>"What are you standing there for? Shred those contracts!"

"I, uh… yes, sir. Right awa-ay, sir, ahuhuhuh,"  
>Monitor sadly and reluctantly pulled out the hefty wad of documents that made up Lydia's contract, and the second set of documents that had attempted to separate her from Beetlejuice. Smearing them with slime in the process, he went to tear them in half by hand, looking particularly gloomy.<br>"Lemme get that for ya," Beetlejuice all too helpfully suggested, smirking before turning himself into a shredder. Vibrating mid-air as he sliced through the paperwork, confetti-like strips littered the floor at Beetlejuice's feet as he turned back into himself.

As soon as he and Lydia had finished exchanging with S. A. about _Slimedunk!_, S. A. rubbed his hands together gleefully.  
>"Come along then, Monitor," His superior ordered, beginning to walk away without checking to see if he was following.<br>"Erhuhuh… y-yes, sir. C-Coming, sir," Monitor whimpered, metaphorical-tail between his legs, as he dashed after S. A. without a backwards glance.

As soon as the NTV executives had exited the studio, followed closely by a handful of the network's staff and the quickly deteriorating audience, Beetlejuice and Lydia held their breath for a minute, then two, before slowly turning to look at each other. Unable to contain her relief any longer, Lydia threw her hands up in the air, near-squealing with triumph. "We did it, Beej! I'm free!"  
>She went to step off of the platform. "We should <em>celebrate<em>!"

Beetlejuice smirked mischievously. Before she could get too far away from him he did the same to her as he had as part of her music video – his arm elongated, slipped around her waist and slowly drew her back towards him. "I can think of a few ways I'd like to..." He professed with an abundant lack of innocence, lips turned upwards into a lecherous grin.

Lydia's eyebrows arched, expression one of flattered amusement. "Why, Mr B. J., sir, whatever could you _mean_?"

He went to answer her, lips primed to give her a kiss, when suddenly the moment was interrupted. Not _all _of the audience had vacated, it seemed, and to make matters worse this audience was composed entirely of acquaintances.  
>Beetlejuice turned to his gathered neighbours and friends, hands on his hips, brows furrowed. He glowered angrily at the small crowd.<br>"WHA-AAAT?" He demanded.

His three neighbours and the trio of club-scouts stared back at him.

_Ah… l'amour… _Jacques thought knowingly, but tried to keep his face straight. Despite feeling warm to his very bones, he wouldn't comment. Instead he waved his hands briskly. "_Non, non_, it is no-thing, Be-etlejuice. We are simply 'appy that ze plan worked."  
>The Monster Across the Street let out a loud 'YEEHAW!' in agreement, while the three Sappy Face Ghouls were dry-retching behind the monster's back. <em>Ugh<em>. _Grown-up love-stuff._

It was Ginger who decided to comment. She clasped her hands together, batting her eyelashes. "You two are so _adorable_," She squealed, her accent almost turning the 'r's into 'w's. It was more of a dig at Beetlejuice than an actual compliment.

Beetlejuice's eyes widened in horror, his face paling. "No- wait-"

Now Lydia could no longer contain her laughter. Trying to suppress it by pressing the back of her hand to her mouth, she found it did no good. It was _good _laughter anyway, easy, medicinal.

Facing their friends, she grinned broadly at everyone.  
>"Ahaha... I think we should <em>all<em> celebrate," She proposed.

They all left the NTV studios together, and didn't once look back.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**

_Slimedunk! _is kind of based on a TV show we had here in in Britain called _Get Your Own Back_. Except, of course, with Beej at the helm this is a bit darker.

I apologise(?) for the choice of song, but it's, in a way, kind of the perfect 'sexy' song for Beej. His, uh, grossness makes him toxic? I'm only sorry I made Lydia sing Britney, I can't imagine she'd be happy about that.

S. A. is a character that appeared in _What Makes BJ Run_; I don't know if he had any other appearances. Slimy's name is given in the episode _Smell-a-thon _when she answers the phone so I decided to stick with that, however tempting it was to refer to the SFGs as Lock, Shock and Barrel, haha.

One more chapter to go!


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

Lydia's celebrity career was over.  
>In fact, it had been over almost immediately after her live music video, but the release of the following mornings' newspapers made her, well, yesterdays news. The front page of the <em>Daily Tomb<em> and _The Afterlife_ featured the truth about Lydia's relationship with her 'manager', and this revelation had dismayed her fans.

Reading through one of these newspaper articles now with an amused grin, Lydia was sat on the couch in the Roadhouse's living room. She didn't think she could feel more ecstatic – her contract was finished with, Monitor had received his just-desserts, and, whilst Beetlejuice had spent _his _share of the money already, she had plenty of Neitherworldian dollars under her belt.

She glanced across the room at Beetlejuice now. He was speaking into his yellophone tiredly, kneading the bridge of his nose as he tried to explain for the umpteenth time to his distressed mother that she had nothing to worry about. The Juices had read the morning headlines, and weren't sure whether the papers were running a false story.  
>"Yes, Ma. No, it's not- no, don't pass me to Dad, <em>you<em> called _me_. Yeah, it's true. Ye-es…"

Beetlejuice was beginning to look irritated and was endlessly circling his hand, silently pleading for the end of the phone call to come soon.  
>Lydia extended a hand to help him out. "Want me to talk to her?" She offered.<br>Beetlejuice caught her eye.  
>Grateful for the reprieve, he rapidly began to wind up his end of the conversation. "No, Mom. Look… Look, talk to Lyds,"<p>

Lydia walked over and accepted the cup-shaped receiver from him with a great deal of enthusiasm, leaning close to the wall-mounted transmitter. "Hi, Mrs Ju— sorry! Sorry! Bea. Hmm?" Bea was pressing about suing the papers for false publication. Lydia's eyes widened. "No! No, that's not necessary, the papers _aren't_ lying,"  
>Beetlejuice snorted. "For once,"<p>

"_Yes_. No, really, we are. No, it's not an invasion of privacy, Bea– Hm? Oh, I'm sure he wouldn't mind a visit–"  
>"<em>What<em>?"  
>"– but we have plans this afternoon."<br>Beetlejuice sagged with relief, wiping his brow. "Phew…" Then, he stopped. _Wait… we do?_

Lydia nodded in acknowledgement to what she was hearing, even though Beetlejuice's mother couldn't see. Humming in confirmation a few more times, she finally straightened, both hands cupping the receiver as she prepared to hang it back on its hook. "O-kay. Speak soon. Bye ma'am," She ended the call, half-exhaling and half-whistling in one breath.  
>Beside the couch, Beetlejuice folded his arms and frowned. "Oh sure, she listens to <em>you,<em>"

The young woman shrugged her shoulders and made her way over to him, picking up the newspaper she'd been reading to fold it in half. "She invited us over for dinner," She mentioned as though on an afterthought.  
>The ghost flinched. "Please tell me you didn't <em>agree<em>,"  
>"Okay, I won't tell you,"<br>"Lydia!"

She rolled her eyes, lightly hitting him with the folded paper. "Come on, Beej, let's go,"  
>His frown vanished. Instead he regarded her with suspicion. "Go where, babes?" He asked, an eyebrow raised.<p>

At this, Lydia flashed him a dazzling smile. "Slimeballing," She said, frankly. "You, sir, owe me a date,"

* * *

><p>It was about one-thirty in the afternoon, and the Neitherwoods was filled with the sound of popping guns and hysterical laughter.<br>A half-day tournament was in progress, and the current game of Capture the Flag was drawing to an end with the red team in the lead.

Having scared his opponent to literal pieces, Beetlejuice snatched the flag from the clattering pile of bones Jacques had become.  
>"Oh, <em>yeah<em>!" He cried, making a break for it and covering his retreat with a few poorly placed shots in the direction of offensive fire.

Lydia, holding a defensive position on the turret of a 'base' shaped like Frankenstein's lab-tower, picked up the slack, gunning at the Sappy Face Ghouls as the trio cackled madly at the crest of the hill.  
>"Beej! Get the flag back here!" She cried.<p>

"Babes, I got it all under contro-" A slime grenade caught him full in the face, silencing him prematurely. Beetlejuice could have avoided this fate had he not raised his protective visor to prank Jacques.  
>Lydia winced, took the rickety back staircase down to the forest floor and dashed over to the 'wounded' recruit.<br>Beetlejuice handed her the flag wordlessly, just as she handed him a handkerchief. "Lick that slime off and I won't kiss you for a week," She warned, only half-teasing.  
>Wiping his face clean, Beetlejuice glanced heavenwards, smirking. "Shucks, babes, you know me so well,"<p>

Just as the Sappy Face Ghouls came close enough to pounce, Lydia tucked the flag under one arm, slimeshooter in hand, and grabbed Slimy, whilst Beetlejuice 'juiced up a cage, trapping the two boys. Slimy disappeared from Lydia's arms and reappeared a split-second later in the cage, scowling.  
>"Play time's over, kiddies," Beetlejuice taunted, sticking out his tongue at the captives.<p>

"You can't beetlejuice us! It's a slimeballing tournament!" One of the boys objected, grabbing onto the iron bars and giving them a shake.  
>Lydia brandished the flag mockingly. "Hey, all's fair." She grinned, before Jacques, who'd hastily put himself back together, drew her attention, beginning to advance on their position. Lydia ducked in case a shot was coming and began to dash towards the Frankenstein tower. "Come on, B. J., let's get back to the base!"<br>"I'm right behind ya, babes!" He cried, floating after her.

As soon as they climbed up to the 'battlement' area of the tower, Lydia untied the red sash from around her wrist and began to wave it furiously.

The marshal blew firmly on his whistle before raising his loudspeaker. "The red team wins the Capture the Flag round! Let's mix up the teams. Huddle up!"

At his command, Beetlejuice, Lydia, Jacques and the Sappy Face Ghouls gathered around him, soon followed by the other ghouls taking part in the tournament.  
>The marshal stood authoritatively, back straight, chest out, instructing them as though they were draftees for the army. "Right, last game. Girls versus boys. It's slayer mode- last team standing!"<p>

Lydia smirked. Swinging her slimeshooter and raising it to eye-level, she appraised Beetlejuice in wordless challenge. He swallowed anxiously; Lydia was a mean shot, she'd wipe the floor with him if they were one-on-one.

"You have thirty seconds to disband. Girls, start at the tower. Boys, graveyard. You have the entire field at your disposal. No shots are to be fired until I give the signal. Now- go!"

Without a backwards glance, Lydia sprinted in the direction of the replica, scaled-down tower, just as Beetlejuice hovered after Jacques towards the cemetery.  
>The Sappy Face Ghouls weren't used to being split up. The two boys dashed after Beetlejuice, pumping their little legs as fast as they could. "Hey, Beetlejuice, wait up!" They squealed.<p>

The girls had been given an unfair advantage – their area of the field provided a lot more cover, the woodland was much thicker there. But then again, the boys had an unfair advantage too: they had Beetlejuice, and no anti-beetlejuicing rules had been established thus far.

Not a second after everyone had so much as stepped into their appropriate zones, the marshal blew on his whistle. The final game began.

Those that were too tired to play a fully tactical game dashed out, guns blazing, acting heroes. Lydia and Slimy picked them off one by one from the tower's battlements.  
>It was difficult for Lydia to tell who it was she was shooting at – the players were all wearing khaki jumpsuits and protective headgear – but then, out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a figure advance from the graveyard with messy, long blond hair. He was heading for the thick of the woods, away from the stalemate confrontation as though planning on circling around and gunning the girls from behind, a strategic move that would ensure they were pinned down on all sides.<p>

_Not today, B. J., _Lydia thought confidently.

"Slimy, I'm going it alone. They've sent an assassin,"  
>"Gotcha," The young girl acknowledged in her raspy voice, still firing off shots.<p>

Lydia raced down the small flight of steps at the back of the tower and took off in the direction she thought Beetlejuice had headed, gun primed just in case she'd misjudged his position.  
>It wasn't long before she thought she heard his voice coming from the northwest, mumbling to himself. "<em>Slip away from the main group unnoticed? Check. Circle round to the fort… to the fort… uh… where is the fort?<em>"

Lydia narrowed her eyes, a wicked smirk playing its way across her face.  
><em>There<em>.  
>Tracking him down to a clearing, she moved stealthily and quietly, trailing the sound of his voice.<p>

"_Ah, boy… maybe I ought'a just zap myself back to the cemetery…" _

Reaching the thickest tree that fringed the glade, Lydia hid behind its trunk, focusing completely. She raised her slimeshooter, ready to aim and catch Beetlejuice off-guard, dead sure he was behind it, dead sure that she'd get a shot in.  
>Then, just as she tipped her head to glance around the tree trunk, she heard the click of a gun being cocked behind her. Every fine hair lining her arms and the back of her neck stood on end. Funny, the slimeshooters didn't need to be cocked.<br>A familiar voice began chuckling before she had time to feel threatened. Reason would normally suggest that it would have been impossible for the direction of this voice to switch so rapidly from north-west to south, but this was Beetlejuice, and reason no longer existed.  
>'<em>Learn to throw your voice. Fool your friends. Fun at parties.' <em>Damn. She'd been had.

Beetlejuice grinned. His caginess had pulled off after all. "D'ya feel lucky? Well? Do ya, babes?"  
>Lydia played along, throwing her arms up in the air without a fight. "I yield!" She gasped without turning.<p>

"Hmph. So much for Dead-Eye Deetz,"  
>"Even <em>you <em>can hit me at point-blank range, Beej,"  
>"That's ri-ight." He grinned, thoroughly amused. "I've got you right in my sights,"<p>

Lydia, cool as anything, fixed her ponytailed dark hair and turned to face him, smiling seductively. "And what are you going to do about it?"  
>Beetlejuice lowered his slimeshooter and popped his face-visor up, closing the gap between them before lifting her visor too.<br>They kissed, cupping each other's slime-smeared cheeks.

Finally coming up for air, both out of breath from laughter, exertion and simple joy, Beetlejuice began subconsciously rubbing his thumb back and forth along the line of her jaw.  
>"From now on, it's just you an' me, babes," He promised. It was funny; whenever he said something that would normally be considered romantic it came out almost lecherous.<br>Lydia arched an eyebrow. She'd heard him say that to her before. "But... mostly you?" She prompted.

Beetlejuice's brows knotted together. "Hey, I'm bein' serious here!" He objected, to which Lydia rolled her eyes. "Well, there's a first time for everything..." Then, she pressed her forehead to his, thinking.

"Beetlejuice?"  
>"Yeah, Lyds?"<br>"We'll… work something out. About college, I mean. About still seeing each other. Everything is going to be okay,"

Upon hearing this, the ghost's face broke into a boyish grin. "Really?"  
>"Really, really," Lydia agreed.<br>Without another word, Beetlejuice slipped an arm around her shoulders, and together they began to walk back towards their groups, a temporary truce in place between them.

"Y'know what, babes?" Beetlejuice eventually said with a smile. "I think this year is gonna be a very good year,"

Lydia looked up at him, cheeks flushed, face radiant.

She knew then, in that moment, that this was where she needed to be, this was where she belonged. She didn't care about what potential life she could lead without him, didn't care what opportunities she'd be missing. As far as she was concerned, her life would never be complete without him.

Leaning into his side, she wrapped her free arm around his waist. "Yeah? Well… I think they're _all_ gonna be,"

They wouldn't be able to 'spend their lives together'. They wouldn't even be able to 'grow old together'. What did those clichés matter anyway? They would simply be _together_. Always. In her life, and his afterlife.

Looking at each other, Beetlejuice and Lydia grinned.

Neither would have it any other way.

* * *

><p><strong>END<strong>

**A/N: **:3 Eeeee. Sorry for the short chapter but I didn't think much more needed to be said. c: It's nice to finish on such an even number, and that wasn't even planned!  
>Thank you to my readers for sticking with this story to the end, it's really meant a lot to me. I'm so glad to have this finished, though I also feel kind of sad to see it end. So... you know what that means? Sequel!<p> 


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